Hero of Madness
by clumsyProphet
Summary: Oblivion AU - We all know how the Hero of Kvatch, at the end of his mortal journey, entered the realm of the Daedric Prince Sheogorath and how he became the new Prince of Madness. But what would have happened if the order of the events was reversed, and it was this new Daedric Lord tasked to save Tamriel from Dagon's plans?
1. Prologue

Molag Bal couldn't believe it. The fool really had overstepped his limits, this time.

"And enslavement of mortals is _my _sphere!" he hissed, hitting the table in front of him with a vigorous punch. "Oh, no, I'm not going to cover up for him this time. I'm sick and tired of bailing him out of troubles."

He could see Azura, in front of him, nod, and he was pretty sure many of the others Daedric Princes at that table were doing the same. Damn Mehrunes Dagon and his damned, stupid plans. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain some kind of composure. Sure, he had tried to conquer Nirn too in the past, but everyone did in the First Era. Well, not quite everyone, fine, but what he meant was that they had all agreed, once the Era had passed, that Nirn should be left (mostly) on its own. Arguing with pissed Aedras and possibly even more peeved fellow Daedric Lords at once was never pleasant, after all. And anyway, when he had tried to take over Mundus, he had at least the decency of not getting caught like a mortal child with his hand in a jar of honey even before starting his plans.

"**Marvelous!** Now that we all agree on that point, let's proceed. Mephala, thanks for your exposition, dear. **HASKILL! **More wine for our guests!"

The Madgod, their host for the meeting, hit the glass of wine in front of him repeatedly with some kind of fork and he ended shattering it at the third strike. The beverage inside retained its shape, while a bored Breton man, carrying several glasses of the red beverage on a silver plate, appeared beside the Daedric Lord and started to distribute them. Molag Bal had hoped that the new Sheogorath would be more bearable than the last one, but apparently there were requirements for being the Daedric Lord of Madness, and one of them was being extremely loud.

"Hey, nice trick. I should use that too in my parties, after a while all that spilled wine and beer gets annoying. Hey, wait a moment…where's Peryite?"

Sanguine's question was answered by a loud swear, coming from Hircine's direction.

"Dammit Vile, it was your job to invite him!"

"Well, excuse me if I have more to do than hunt some deers and I forgot!"

It was Vaermina's turn to slam her hands on the table, this time.

"_**Enough.**_ We can decide how to deal with our problem even without him. Boethiah, Mephala, any ideas how to make Dagon pay for this?"

The two divinities shifted glances from their seats almost uncomfortably, before the former cleared his throat.

"Well, the plan was to humiliate him in some way. We thought we could use some mortal champion to stop his plans, but…"

The eyes of the Prince shifted on Sheogorath for a second and everyone noticed…especially the Prince of Madness himself.

"What? Do I have a slaughterfish in my teeth?"

Silence fell, along with a rather chilly atmosphere. Boethiah seemed…too embarrassed to speak? While Bal would have loved to use the occasion against his sworn enemy, the Prince's reaction could lead in only one way. He noticed that some of the other Princes had understood too, and that only increased the tension in the air.

"But what? Come on, we don't have all day." scoffed Malacath, in the end. Molag Bal resisted the urge to hit his face with his palm, of course the fool hadn't understood.

"…No more…suitable heroes to fit the role, I'm afraid. The last one that could have done it…"

It was Mora that had answered, but even him had trouble finding the right words, and that alone was a rare sight. They all knew Sheogorath's…origins, and they all know the mortal was gone, replaced by a god. No one questioned that, but still… it was definitely impolite, bordering to offence, remind him of his past. Still, it was difficult to stop staring at the Madgod, which in the meantime had just decided to nibble on a piece of…glass? Oh, dear.

"...Well? Speak!"

"Malacath, you're an idiot!" Nocturnal snapped, losing her usual cold demeanor. The tension and embarrassment were so thick they could have been cut with a blade, now. Azura opened her mouth to say something, only to be stopped by a gesture of the hand of their host.

"Oh, it's fine, dear. Mortality is a disease I'm glad I've healed from, and denying facts doesn't get us anywhere. I think there's nothing else to add, so…other ideas?" he said, with a little smile on his face and an unusual, but genuine, gentle tone. Molag was definitely glad of that intervention, and even more glad that the Madgod didn't seem to mind too much. Pissing Sheogorath had never been a good idea, like a lot of Princes there could testify. With the air becoming, metaphorically speaking, breathable again, more Princes seemed willing to talk again. Hircine was the first to do so.

"Well, we could always intervene directly."

Molag Bal shook his head slowly.

"Yes, that would work, but you know how he will react? He will say something along the lines of 'They only beated me because they were fourteen against one' and then promptly proceed to try again, and again, and again and fucking again. As much as I hate saying it…ugh…"

He took a pause, grimacing. Damn Dagon, he would pay for putting him in that situation.

"…Boethiah is right. We need a way to humiliate him, possibly in front of all the mortals of Nirn. Then maybe he'll think twice before doing something so stupid again." he said, in the end, trying to not look towards his sworn enemy, who was surely grinning mockingly before someone (probably Vaermina, she was the nearest) hit him, judging by his outraged "Ow!". Azura nodded again, an hint of a smile on her face. She was probably happy about her ally's newfound 'spirit of cooperation', but considering she had refused to speak to him for years because of something he had supposedly do to some of her followers…well, maybe she had 'forgiven' him? He would have plenty of time to discover it later, maybe with a nice bottle of Ambrosia and a seat for two in a balcony with a nice view of Coldh…No, scratch that, Azura had never liked his domain. He scoffed, trying to concentrate on what the other goddess was saying.

"I agree. Now, Mephala, I assume that he plans to kill the Emperor and his heirs, right? He can't possibly hope to invade with the Dragonfires still lit."

"Well, then it's simple. We use some avatars with almost no powers to stop the assassinations, and Mehrunes won't even know what hit him."

It was Azura's turn to shook her head, this time.

"That won't do, Namira. It would be the same as before: Dagon would think he had a stroke of bad luck and try again."

"Actually…that plan isn't that bad."

It was Boethiah that had spoken, a vicious grin on his face.

"Mmmh…someone mentioned sweetrolls? No? Anyway…you know something we don't. Come on, I hate surprises! What is it?"

The Prince of Plots was now basically gloating. Molag would have loved to smash a fist in his smug face, but sadly that would have to be postponed. He cursed Dagon once again, massaging his temple.

"The current Emperor has a bastard son, and his existence is pretty much a secret…at least for Dagon, anyway. He will eventually discover it, but for now we have the upper hand. We could still use an avatar so we can mask our involvement, 'fail' to stop the assassinations, make the invasion advance for a while and then support this man until he lights the Dragonfires again. I would really prefer them not lit, but I'm afraid it won't be possible. This would make it seem like the mortals made it themselves, maybe with the help of the Aedras, but it would still be a big humiliation for Mehrunes."

Silence fell in the room, all the Princes there pondering about the plan. It was Hermaeus Mora the first to speak again.

"It seems…feasible. So, which one of us will have this honour? I'm afraid I have…other matters to attend."

Others began murmuring as well, and even Malacath could have told that the plan was going to be a failure, because no one of them would have…

"Oh, well, it seems like I will be the one to do it, then. HASKILL! Prepare my suitcase! And my mudcrab shoes! Especially the mudcrab shoes. Oh and don't forget the trouts! And the pumpkin carriage!"

Sheogorath had stand up, barking increasingly insane orders to his servant, while everyone stared at him in a mix of disbelief and relief. No one expected him to be so eager to return to Tamriel, honestly, but they all hated the idea of assuming the guise of a mortal for more than the time they usually required to interact with their followers. If he wanted to do it so badly, so be it, concluded Bal.

"Oh, splendid! And you could borrow some of our artifacts, so we can mask your Daedric aura and reduce the chance you'll need to use your powers."

The relief in Meridia's voice was barely disguised, but her proposal was still good. Everyone agreed immediately, except Vile, that had tried to weasel out of the pact before being shot angry glares from almost all the Princes at the table.

"This isn't the time for your damned deals, Vile!" was the only comment of Hircine, still pissed about their previous exchange. Mora nodded (well, if the movement of his eldritch body's upper tip could be considered nodding), before speaking again.

"So it's decided. When Dagon will move to assassinate the Emperor, Sheogorath shall assume the guise of a mortal, and then shall assist this illegitimate son. We will all" and he looked straight to Vile "provide insight and artifacts, and we will obviously keep this gathering and our intentions secret. And someone please inform Peryite, even if we don't exactly need his help having him on Dagon's side would be ill-advised. Really, the fact that everyone insist to forget about him is getting ridiculous. Questions?"

No one had anything more to say.

"Then I shall return to Apocrypha. Farewell, Lord Sheogorath."

With that, Mora disappeared in a sickly green light, and more of them started to do the same. Some of the remaining Daedra started chatting, and Sanguine emptied his tenth bottle of wine. Molag Bal was considering the idea of asking Sheogorath, that had resumed issuing orders to his deadpan servant, about his decision, when a well-known voice came from his side.

"I was…pleasantly surprised by your behavior, Lord Bal. I was half expecting you and Boethiah to start fighting as usual."

He smirked, trying to not look too smug.

"Well, as much as I had liked to, we had more pressing matters, didn't we? Really, Azura, I'm not that petty."

She furrowed her eyebrows, crossing her arms. His slight accusing tone hadn't been lost on her.

"Even if I still resent you for turning my followers into vampires…That. Doesn't. Make. Me. Petty."

"For the hundredth time, it wasn't me. I don't control every single fucking vampire out there, and some of them are not better than beasts. Are you going to blame Hircine if one of your flock gets eaten by a wolf?"

She sighed, waving her hand in the air.

"Maybe you're right, or maybe not. But…" and her expression softened "if you can be civil, so can I, especially when my ally is involved. And that happened a lot of time ago, anyway, it's time to move on. Would you like to join me for a talk in Moonshadow? I believe we have much to discuss."

Score. He smirked, tilting his head in her direction.

"Sure. Lead the way."

The two of them disappeared in a bluish haze, leaving the other Daedra to their occupations. Sanguine sighed, before tossing away another bottle.

"I can't believe Azura liking that one…" he muttered, grabbing a nearby jug and emptying it in one glug.


	2. Chapter 1

"Hey, Cyrus, do you know who is the one in the south-east cell?"

The Redguard shook his head, before untying the last string of his armoured left boot. His shift had just ended, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck there talking about prisoners.

"Valen Dreth has been here for Gods knows how long, Valeria."

The other guard scoffed, making a wide circular gesture with her left hand.

"I wasn't talking about him! I meant the Nord. Tall, pale skin, white hair…He just appeared this morning, and no one knows why is he here!"

Having finally managed to remove the stubborn piece of armour and replace it with his shoe, Cyrus decided to cut that conversation short…by leaving that instant.

"None of my concern. Now, if you excuse me…"

"Fine! To Oblivion with you!" shouted Valeria, while the other guard walked out from the room.

* * *

Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, also known as the Madgod, one of the Four Corner of the House of Troubles, Lord of the Never-There and Sovereign of the Shivering Isles…once mortal, thief and adventurer, now mortal again. Well, no, he wasn't technically mortal, but he sure looked like one. It was incredible how fast he had adapted to his new, Daedric nature over the course of the five years he had spent in the Isles, fast enough to make him feeling more than a slight distaste for his old body. Not is real old body, fine, but one that looked like it, and that was enough. He found himself asking why he had decided to be the one sent to Tamriel. Sure, no one else wanted to do it, but they could have worked something out. Maybe he still cared about his former home, after all. He flexed his arm, trying to not think too much about it. Well, maybe starting in a prison was a factor of his annoyance, but that couldn't be helped. The Emperor would soon come, if Mephala predictions could be trusted (and they usually could), and he had to be ready.

"My, my, you're a big one. A Nord, I'd guess, right?"

Oh? There was another one in the cell in front of him. Not that he really cared. He half listened to the Dunmer's insults, making a mental note to drive him mad once he returned to his righteous position. His contempt seemed to piss off even more the elf, but before he could start talking again the distinct sound of footsteps and words could be heard.

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming... for you! He he he he he he."

Poor idiot. If only he had knew…Oh, here they were. Three Blades, with a richly dressed silver haired man behind them. The soldiers seemed surprised to see the Nord there.

"What...?! This cell was supposed to be empty!" the woman in the group barked.

"Never mind that. Stand back, prisoner, and we won't hurt you." another one said, and Sheogorath complied. He really didn't want to be stabbed there, he had work to do and Emperors to not save, dammit!

"Wait. Let me see your face…"

The voice came from the man behind the soldiers...obviously the Emperor, Uriel Septim VII. The guards seemed shocked, but they didn't object. The old Imperial looked at his face, searching for something. Then, suddenly, all the blood flushed away from his face, as he stammered back.

"I…know you. You are…I've seen you, in my dreams. Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. Sheogorath asked himself what to do. What would have he done five years before, in that situation?

"So…what's going on?" he asked, trying to sound confused. He didn't really listen the answer, he already knew, but it was the question that was important.

"Oh. What about me? What happens now?" he added, once the old man finished talking. He was sure he would have asked that, as a mortal. The Emperor merely smiled.

"You already know your path, young one. Now, how may I call you?"

It was his turn to be speechless. Did the Emperor knew…? And if he did, how much of that other mortals knew? No, it couldn't be. He had really spent too much time in Crucible, he was becoming paranoid.

"Simhaud. Call me Simhaud."

He was surprised about his own lack of hesitation…heh, Simhaud. He had not used that name for long, but apparently a part of him didn't forget. And acting like his old self, instead of the usual demeanor of the Madgod, was beginning to feel almost natural. In the meantime, the group of soldiers had opened a secret passage in the cell, and they were gesturing their Emperor to go with them.

"Better not close this one. There's no way to open it from the other side…but what about the prisoner, your Majesty?" the woman asked. Uriel Septim looked at Sheo…_Simhaud's_ face one last time, before answering.

"He's no danger…to us. Let him enter the passage and follow us."

* * *

They got separated at some point, so Sh…Simhaud had to make his way across some rats-infested ruins to rejoin the group. Good thing that he had found some ancient looking boots (walking on the stone floor basically barefoot wasn't really comfortable) and some weapons, namely a rusty iron blade and a worn out bow with some arrows. Good: in his mortal life he had always preferred sniping and stealth over direct confrontation, which was good for his newfound need to not draw too much attention. Well, not that those rats were a problem, they instinctively knew there was something dangerous about him and promptly run away. The undead that roamed the tunnels would have been more troublesome…if he had bothered to confront them, which he hadn't because he sneaked past them without much trouble. He emerged from the tunnels to a balcony over the group just in time to see two Blades (the woman must had been killed before, he realized, but he was probably either too far or too distracted to notice) slaughtering the Emperor's last remaining assassin…well, last for now, at least. He was sure there were more of them ahead, he could almost feel the familiar tingle of Daedric magic on the bare skin of his arms, even after the man fell to the ground lifeless and his magic armour dissolved into smoke.

"It's the prisoner! Dammit, he could be another assassin!" one of the Blades shouted. The soldier almost reached for his blade again, when a commanding voice stopped him in his tracks.

"No. He's not. He can help us…he _must_ help us."

The more the Emperor spoke, the more the Daedra was convinced that he knew his true form and motives. Not that it did mind…the Emperor would die there, that was the plan, and whatever he knew was going to be lost.

"Come closer, Simhaud. I'd prefer not to have to shout."

He nodded, before jumping down on the ground, landing gracefully on his feet. The nimbleness of the action seemed to surprise the Blades…hm, perhaps he should had toned down his former body's abilities, for the moment at least. He moved closer to the Emperor, waiting for him to speak.

"They cannot understand why I trust you. They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain?"

The Emperor seemed to struggle to find some words.

"You know of the Divines, don't you?"

He couldn't help but grin. Of course he did, even if, honestly, he had preferred avoiding their company…in both his lives.

"Heh. More than I wish to."

Uriel Septim looked at him with an amused half smile, before continuing, more seriously.

"I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I have read the signs…and all of them show the end of my path."

He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them again, they were filled with determination.

"My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

Simhaud was frankly surprised, and asked a question before he could stop himself.

"Aren't you afraid to die?"

The Emperor smiled, openly this time, and then shook his head slowly.

"Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the time of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall."

Simhaud never replied to that phrase. One of the Blades, the Redguard, came near them to voice his concern.

"Your Majesty, we must continue. It's not safe to stay here for too long. And you…" he faced Simhaud, his face serious but not threatening "…you seem pretty skilled, and if the Emperor is so sure about you…Come with us, but don't even think of doing anything stupid."

The Nord grinned, unsheathing the worn out longsword he had found in the tunnels.

"Lead the way."

* * *

They had been walking for a while now, and they hadn't see any more attacks from the assassins. That was not a very good sign, especially because the prickle on his skin had only gotten worse. They weren't alone, and there was no telling when or where the killers would strike. He was walking behind Baurus (the Redguard Blade, he had told him his name earlier) when the soldier leading the way (which hadn't bothered to present himself) swore loudly.

"Dammit! The gate is barred from the other side. A trap!"

Really, how surprising. He scratched his left arm, while Baurus pointed to a sideway passage.

"We could use that."

"Aye, because that's surely not going to be a trap." he said, completely deadpan.

Ouch, he should have stayed silent. The Emperor's bodyguards shot him angry glares, before the Imperial one spoke again, poison in his tone.

"We don't have another choice, _prisoner_. Let's go."

* * *

The Imperial Blade was the first one to fall when the first wave of assassins hit. Simhaud and Baurus found themselves fighting back to back to repel the killers' blows, until the Redguard was launched into the nearest wall by a particularly violent fireball. Nothing seemed to be able to hit the Nord, though. Really, he knew he shouldn't had showed off so much, but he couldn't resist: those men were pathetically weak, and, let's be frank, he had grown so accustomed to being flashy that stopping so suddenly felt wrong.

"FORGET ABOUT HIM! KILL THE EMPEROR!" one of the assassins shouted, before getting impaled on Simhaud's blade. Another wave of assassins emerged from the shadows, and some of them darted towards the Emperor, that was valiantly defending himself from an assailant as much as he could with a dagger. Knowing that the Blade would stay behind to deal with the remaining cultists, he launched himself towards the attackers, but this time he allowed one of them to escape the reach of his sword.

'Sorry, mortal. I can't save you.' he thought, while the assassin struck his blade into the Emperor's chest. He could hear Baurus shout, behind him. He almost felt sorry for the Redguard, who had lost everything in less than an hour, Simhaud realized while decapitating the killer before it could finish off completely Uriel Septim, now collapsed on the ground. He then knelt beside the Emperor, lifting him in a sitting position. The old man's words were basically a whisper.

"I can…go no further. You alone must stand against…He must not have the Amulet of Kings! Take it."

The Emperor fidgeted around his neck with a shaky hand, in the end freeing the medallion he wore. He lifted it towards the Nord.

"Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my…last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of…Oblivion."

The irony of his task only hit him in that moment. A Daedric Lord tasked with save Tamriel from another Daedric Lord. He would have laughed, but that would have surely ruined his chance to be considered an ally, had Baurus heard. He nodded, none of his amusement reflecting on his face. He whispered, for his words needed to be heard only by the Emperor. The clamor of the battle in the other room would have provided the rest of the cover he needed, after all.

"You know who I am, right? But…it doesn't matter. I will stop Dagon, Emperor. It's why I'm here."

The Emperor nodded, a distant expression on his face. Simhaud wasn't exactly sure the other man had heard his last phrase, but he really didn't mind.

"I will trust the Gods' decision, as always. Give me your hand."

Uriel Septim pushed the Amulet into the Nord's open palm before resting his hand on his chest, now coloured crimson by his blood.

"I'll take it from here." Simhaud whispered, watching the old man stop breathing. The sound of fighting had died out, he realized while heavy steps resounded behind him.

"He's dead…isn't he?"

"Sorry. Too many assassins." he lied, laying the Emperor's body on the ground. Baurus was definitely not having a good time, but he found the strength to shake his head.

"No. You fought valiantly, certainly better than me, and you weren't even the one supposed to protect him. Don't blame yourself with…Wait. Is that…?"

The Nord nodded, standing up and showing the Amulet in his hand to the Blade.

"Yes. He gave me this. He…mentioned someone named Jauffre. And another son. And a lot of stuff about Oblivion. No idea of what this could mean." he said, lying again of course, offering the Amulet to Baurus.

"No…keep it. I don't know myself…all the Emperor's son are dead, as far as I know, but I do know where you can find Jauffre. He lives in a monastery near Chorrol…Weynon Priory, it's called. Are you familiar with Cyrodiil enough to travel there?"

Simhaud grinned slightly, before answering.

"I might be a Nord, but I've spent a lot of time in Cyrodiil, don't worry. Not that it stopped me from getting lost every time, but still…yeah, I know where to go."

Baurus didn't seem too much convinced (and how blame him?), but he really didn't have another choice, did he? He sighed, before searching for something in his saddleback. He offered the Nord a little bag, that judging by the sound it made was full of gold pieces. Yup, it definitely was full of Septims, he concluded after weighting it in his hand.

"Here. Buy decent armor and weapons, some potions…or whatever do you need to stay safe on your journey. I need to go now, but I hope we'll meet again. Farewell, Simhaud. And good luck: you'll need it."

* * *

It didn't took him too long to exit from the sewers, anxious as he was to leave the terrible smell behind…Except that his clothes were now dripping with drainage water, so he stank like an ogre's corpse. He had the temptation to conjure some clothes out of thin air, but he stopped at the last moment. You never know when someone's looking or not. He sighed, eyeing the clean surface of Lake Rumare in front of him. Oh, better than nothing. He approached the Lake, and looked on the calm surface of the water, that reflected his image back like a mirror. Locks of white hair fell over his eyes, while his braid dangled idly by the left side of his face. It was almost…strange, to see that face stare back with his old blue eyes. Oh, and no beard. That was a thing he really needed to rectify…maybe. He wasn't sure whether Sheogorath's beard would look good on Simhaud's face or not, honestly.

He was still looking at his "new" image, when a voice behind him made him jump.

"Your money or your…Goddammit, you stink like a sewer!"

Oooh. New armour and weapons! He turned towards the brigand a few paces away from him, which was holding his nose with a disgusted expression, a bright smile creeping up on his face. Uh, the outlaw was wearing only some terribly oversized leather armour (probably stolen from an Orc, judging by the size of it) and a steel sword, but better than nothing. His smile grew more devious when he took out his bow, while the Imperial in front of him started to sweat profusely.

"Uhm…I don't think I like the way you smile…DON'T COME CLOSER AND PUT THAT WEAPON DOWN!" he shouted when he saw the bow, pointing his blade towards Simhaud…pshh, like that could stop him.

"Oh? I thought you wanted my money? I can't give it to you standing here! But, hey, you're right! Screw money! Hey, you know what's even better than money? HORKERS! DRAGONS! **HORKERS RIDING DRAGONS**!" he shouted, ending his ramble with a loud laugh.

"Oh. And death." he added, now completely deadpan. The bandit had already started to back off at his brief display of insanity, but Simhaud's last phrase made him literally run away for his life. He didn't make very far, however, before an arrow struck him in the neck, making him choke on his own blood after a few moments of desperate, useless struggle for his life.

* * *

A quick bath in Lake Rumare later, and he was walking in the crowded streets of the Marked District with his new armour on. Granted, it was too big for him and he fully intended to barter it for something he could actually wear in combat, but it was still better than the prison's sack clothes. Then…potions, arrows, maybe a better bow…oh, and a horse. He wasn't sure he could afford a horse, but hey! He could always use his infinite charisma and bartering skills…or, failing that, cheat with some nifty spells he had learned over the years. Good plan, he congratulated himself. And now…Off to shopping he went!

* * *

"…And this is how you sneak past someone without being caught, children!"

Armand Christophe smiled, standing up from his crouching position. The triplet looked stupefied, especially Misandrael, the only Bosmer of the three, and Frilgeth. The boy, Rorik, was pretty amazed, but didn't seem ecstatic like his sisters. He really wasn't the stealthy type, after all.

"Wow, uncle Armand! You're so good!" shouted Frilgeth, moving away from her face a lock of white hair with her little hand, just for it to fall back almost immediately.

"Yes! When I grow up, I want to be just like you and mommy!" added Misandrael, pointing one little finger towards the sky…well, the ceiling, really, but the sky sounded better.

"Me too! Me too!" shouted back the Nord girl, while the door was being opened by someone outside. Armand turned his head, smiling to the Bosmer woman that was entering.

"You returned early, Methredhel." he said, and he was about to add something else when he noticed the woman's state. She was pale, and she was shivering slightly. He frowned, moving some steps towards her.

"Wait…is something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." he whispered, putting an hand on her shoulder. Her response was to nod slowly, looking at the floor.

"Look, I need to talk to you. Alone."

Her voice was a little more than a murmur…Nothing good, he realized.

"Fine. Children! I've hidden a true dagger somewhere in the garden…the first who finds it can keep it!" he shouted, observing then the children rush towards the door that lead to the garden on the back of the house, with a little chorus of "Oooh" and "I'm gonna find it first!". Normally, the sight would have made him smile, but not that time. When they were gone, he looked back at Methredhel.

"So…what is this about?"

"Armand…I…" she stumbled, looking him in the eyes. She was crying, he noticed. "I…I think I saw Simhaud today in the Market District."

"**What?!**" he shouted before he could control his reactions. Methredhel looked away, before speaking again.

"He…he…just looked like him. His walk, his hair…I didn't see his face, though. I was surprised, there was too much crowd...and I lost him."

Armand closed his eyes, before putting both his hands on the Bosmer's shoulders.

"Methredhel, Simhaud is dead. You know it well. It's not that uncommon even for young Nords to have white hair, and distance and crowd can confuse everyone." he told her, with the softest tone he could muster at the moment.

"Yes. Yes, I know. But…" she said, before breaking into sobs. Armand Christophe hugged her tightly, the sound of her weeping muffled by the cloth of his shirt.

"Methredhel. I know these years have been hard on you, but please, don't let your sanity slip." he said in the end, letting her go and giving her a piece of cloth he had in one of his pockets. The woman took it, with a shaky smile, and then proceeded to wipe her tears away.

"Sorry, Armand. I…shouldn't have bothered you."

"No, don't worry. Simhaud…he was a close friend, and I'm sure he would kick me really hard if he found out that I'm not honoring the promise to look after you I made him in his last days." he said, his tone serious.

"Heh. Thief's honor…Thanks." she smiled, even with sadness still on her face.

"Oh…by the way. Here, take these, and use them to buy something nice. The Gray Fox sends his regards." said Armand, giving her a wink and a tiny sack he had took out from another pocket. Methredhel opened it, only to find it full with gems and Septims.

"Why I'm pretty sure that you have something to do with this?" she said, in the end, looking at him with a tiny spark of amusement in her eyes. She was still shaken from earlier, but she was regaining her composure, Armand noted. Good.

"No way. Now, I've heard that Amusei needs to cancel a bounty…again. Can you do that? I'll do it myself if you don't feel like working today." he changed quickly the subject, pointing with his thumb at the door. Methredhel noticed his attempts to steer away the conversation from the previous argument, but she evidently decided to let the matter slide.

"No way. Tell him to come inside when you see him again, I'll deal with him. I'm Waterfront's Doyen now, I can't fail the Guild."

"Well, I'll take my leave then. Shadow hide you. Oh…and I should really drop a dagger in the garden, or we'll soon have a serious case of three disappointed children. Say goodbye to them on my behalf." he said, smiling, before taking his bag and exiting silently from the door.

It didn't took long for him to reach his usual hiding spot in the Waterfront District. When he was sure he was alone, he took out from his satchel a gray mass of leather, that only a closer inspection would have confirmed as a cowl, and then looked at it for some seconds, before sighing heavily.

"You _really_ had to leave us this way, didn't you?" he murmured, before putting the cowl on. He had work to do, the past could wait another day.


	3. Chapter 2

He dismounted from his new horse (that had had to be charmed, because otherwise it wouldn't had no intention of being rode by a Daedric being) just in front of Molag Bal's shrine. It was the nearest, after all, going towards the city of Chorrol, and didn't require much time to reach deviating from his route. He was expecting a quiet place, with a few followers occupied worshipping their god. What he did see, however, made him remember about some of the grimmest Crucible's festivals. Now, he knew about Bal's love for driving his followers into the depths of desperation, but that seemed…a little bit too much, even for him. His followers were flailing around helplessly, burning piles of offerings under the statue of their Lord, tears wetting their faces. He considered the idea of recruiting them for his shrine, but first he had to know what was happening there.

"Uhm, excuse me, what's going on?" he asked, when a frantic cultist walked in front of him with a pile of…wolf pelts? Ew, how classless. Much more better offer lettuce, soul gems, yarn…or cheese. Mmh…cheese. Anyway, the cultist seemed shocked to see someone else there. With a shriek, he dropped all of the pelts, grasping instead Simhaud's armour.

"Our Lord…He refuse to speak to us! WE DISAPPOINTED HIM! WE'RE USELESS WORMS!" he shrieked, before dropping with his knees on the ground and starting to sob uncontrollably.

"Uhm. Yeah, terrible. Can I go to the shrine?" he asked, while counting the number of persons there. Mmh…ten new potential residents of the Isles, not bad. The man on the ground didn't seem to have heard him, anyway, and instead kept weeping. Well, that was a "yes" in his book. He went towards the statue of his fellow Prince, and then tapped it lightly.

"Hello? Bal?" he asked, in his mind. When the only answer was silence, he cleared his mental throat, just to repeat himself, this time mind-shouting.

"**MOLAG BAL!** ANSWER! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!"

"Dammit…Sheogorath, is that you? You really _had_ to disturb me right now, didn't you?!" suddenly answered a deep, pissed voice. Finally!

"Are you aware that I'm going to gain ten followers, right?" he asked, a smug tone in his thoughts.

"I really hope you're not bothering me just to tell me that you managed to drive insane ten fucking mortals, Madgod." was the dry answer. My, he truly had to explain everything to him!

"I did nothing this time, and the 'mortals' I'm talking about are your followers."

The mental shout that followed would probably had given him and headache, had he been a mortal, but it still felt like an explosion.

"WHAT!? EXPLAIN! **NOW.**"

He smiled, shrugging.

"Oh, they're just going bonkers because you're not paying attention to them. Poor, pitiful mortals…"

Bal was left silent for some seconds, before he spoke again, this time mercifully without shouting.

"Dammit. Now that you mention it, I haven't talked to them for weeks. I had…other things in my head."

Simhaud laughed openly this time, gaining some dirty look from some followers nearby.

"Let me guess…it starts with Azura and it ends with…Oh, I screwed up. It ends with Azura?"

There was a loud groan on the other side of the conversation.

"Subtle as usual, Sheogorath. But no, I wasn't thinking about her…and I really hope you're not here to talk about Azura, because in that case you're wasting my time."

"Oh, I don't know…Azura's pretty fine in my book."

"Don't even _think_ about it, Madgod. Look, if you're here for some artifacts I can give you my Mace…"

Now it was _his _turn to groan…Blunt weapons were so _clumsy_ and heavy and…never mind, but still no maces!

"A _mace?_ Really? I don't even like that kind of weapons, you know! You don't have anything else for me?"

He could clearly hear a sigh from the other side…Molag wasn't really in a good mood that day. To be honest, he was never in a good mood, unless a certain Prince of Twilight was involved. It was only after a while that the other Prince spoke again.

"Maybe I can arrange something else. How about an light helmet? I have one that's been taking dust for centuries now, with some pretty good enchantments on it."

Much, much better. He nodded, before answering.

"Will do."

"_Great_. Now, if you're done…" Molag added, clearly anxious to end the conversation. Mmh…Perhaps…

"Oh! By the way, Azura really loves foxes." he added, with a devious smile on his face.

"..._Foxes?!_ Oh. Maybe I can order one of those useless followers to...Wait. I said I wasn't thinking about Azura, Sheogorath!"

He had to stop himself from laughing again. Big, ol' scary Molag Bal crushing on Azura like a little mortal schoolgirl…that was truly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, sure. I'll leave you alone, so you can continue to not think about her. Bye!" he finished, with a wink. He could barely hear a stream of obscenities coming from the other side before a glass helmet, seemingly materialized out of thin air, hit him squarely in the back of the head.

"Ow!" he protested, massaging the offended part. Molag sure didn't have any sense of humor, uh?

His trail of thought was roughly interrupted by a shriek behind him. Uh-oh…

"OUR LORD! HE SPOKE AGAIN TO THE ADVENTURER!"

Shit. One of the followers must had seen the scene, and took the helmet like a sign of Bal's benevolence or something. Simhaud was about to pick the helmet up and start running towards his horse, but he wasn't fast enough. The group of followers surrounded him, with a chorus of "Champion!" and "Show us the way to please our Lord!". He was about to groan again, when a great idea hit him. He grinned for an instant, before addressing the cultists with the best solemn tone he could manage without bursting into laughter.

"Lord Molag Bal has spoken to me! He wishes to corrupt some…innocent woodland creature! Yes, He wish to corrupt some fox cubs in His reign, Coldharbour! Bring Him the cutest ones you can find, alive of course because...uhm…Because He can't corrupt a dead animal, obviously! Fail to do that and…and…Oh, sure! His wrath will be terrible! Now go, while I …uuuh…corrupt some village in His name!"

The poor mortals looked at him with a blank expression for some moments, before looking quizzically at each other.

"Oh…well…who are we to judge our Lord?" one of them said in the end. Others nodded, not too convinced, before going towards the nearest forest. Simhaud, meanwhile, was nearly suffocating for the effort to not laugh in their faces…damn, that was glorious! He could almost see Bal's face the moment he would realize he had been sent some little, cute foxes. The following moments probably wouldn't be as pleasant for anyone involved, but he had learn to overlook such tiny details like the lives of a few mortals. And it was their fault anyway, if they really wanted to live a long, happy life they shouldn't have chosen to worship the damned _Daedric Prince of Domination_, for crying out loud! He shook his head (that still ached, by the way), then picked up the helmet, still on the ground. Time to get going, Dagon wasn't waiting for him!

* * *

The journey from Chorrol to Kvatch had been fairly uneventful, everything considered. Animals kept avoiding him like the plague and even if bandits weren't so smart to do the same they didn't pose a serious threat to him. The conversation with Jauffre had been even more unremarkable, now that he thought about it…really, the only thing the old man said Simhaud didn't already know was that the monk wasn't a monk at all, but the head of the Blades, and even that wasn't much a surprise. He had pretended to be really, really surprised about Jauffre's story, he had grabbed some arrows and some potions (_never _say no when someone offers you arrows and potions) and, after a little nap and a quick lunch (his avatar had mortal needs, after all), he had departed from the Priory on a new horse, replacing the exhausted one he had rode before. He thought again about the man he was about to meet: his name was Martin and he was an Akatosh priest, apparently. Booooring! But hey, he wasn't there to have fun, sadly, even if the idea of waltzing into a chapel and exclaiming "Hey! You're the bastard son of the Emperor, your father is dead, Dagon wants to enslave Tamriel and you'll have to fix that!" had its appeal. Mmmh…maybe he should have said that with a little more tact, though. Oh, well. He spurred his horse, lightly tapping its sides with his boots. The terrified animal (the calm spell had long since wear off, and the mare probably hadn't rebelled against her rider out of fear for her life) complied immediately, galloping into the sunset and towards the hill where Kvatch was built.

It was the faint tingle of Daedric magic on his skin the first thing that made him realize that something was off, even before seeing the unnaturally red sky that surrounded the city. The more he got near, the more the sensation was strong…apparently, Dagon wasn't completely stupid, and had managed to find the heir (even with a huge delay). He made his horse stop, while a terrified Altmer approached him.

"Run away while you still can! The Guards are holding for now, but it's only time since…Gods! There were Daedra everywhere!" he whimpered in the end, covering his face with his hands. The situation was starting to get worse and worse, better gain some information.

"There were some huge portals involved, perhaps?"

The Altmer lifted his face from his hands, a surprised expression on it.

"Yes…Yes! Those portals…they were Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature... something out of a nightmare... came right over the walls... blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing...I have to get out of here!" he shouted, evidently on the verge of a breakdown. While Simhaud would have loved to push him further into madness he really had no time at the moment. If he allowed Dagon to kill the heir, the plan would be ruined! Also, it would really be an humiliation for him if that would have happened!

"Say, do you know where a certain Martin is? He's a priest."

"I…don't. He was not in the refugee camp...He must be inside the city…him, or his corpse!"

Great, so many good news! He definitely had to hurry, then.

"Where are those guards you spoke of earlier?" he said, dryly, putting his new glass helmet on. The Altmer seemed shaken by the sudden change of tone, but he pointed the top of the hill anyway.

"Thanks. Don't get eaten by mountain lions on the road." he said, before spurring his horse and guiding her towards his objective. It didn't take too long to reach the place, and the sight wasn't pretty. A lot of Gates must had been opened and then closed, judging by the marks on the ground, with one of them still open in front of the city doors, effectively blocking them. The only way in, he realized, was to close it…no small task, but hey, at least he knew _how _to do that, unlike those guards. Speaking of guards, they were busy fighting one huge Daedroth (and busy losing too). Simhaud sighed, before taking out his bow and shooting one arrow that hit the creature right in the heart, piercing the soft skin of its chest. The Daedroth swayed for one moment before collapsing to the ground. The guards…well, they clearly didn't believe their eyes, but it didn't took too long to realize what had happened.

"Wha...Did you just kill that thing? _On a horse?!_" shouted one of them. Simhaud shrugged, before putting his bow away and then dismounting. He had to catch the horse quickly by the reins, before the animal started to run for her life, but no one seemed to notice that.

"Yes, and I need to get inside the city, so I'll have to close that thing." he said, pointing to the Gate. "Anyone wants to keep my horse while I'm there?"

Silence. The soldiers looked at each other, a puzzled expression on their face, before one Imperial came next to him and took the reins from his hand.

"I don't know who are you, why you're here and I definitely don't know whether you're completely insane or not, but you're our best hope, I suppose." he said, looking straight in his eyes.

"Look, I do think those things can be closed, because the enemy did that to the ones they opened during the initial attack, so we have a chance. And I sent men into the Gate, to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven't come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is, good luck. If you make it back alive, we'll be waiting for you." he continued, dryly. Finally someone who wasn't wasting his time!

"Try to not get killed by the Daedra while I'm gone." he replied, moving towards the Gate. He took his bow out again, before leaping into the swirling red energy of the portal.

* * *

The first thing he felt was neither the heat, nor the overwhelming stench of sulfur: it was Mehrunes Dagon's presence. A plane of Oblivion was nothing more than an extension of its Prince, and the Deadlands were no exception. He really had to conceal his presence now, because even a little spark of his power would be immediately noted…or maybe not? Maybe a little display of power would pass undetected, like a mosquito taking a little sip of mortal blood. Well, he would simply lay low, and only use his best tricks if he had found himself in a hard spot. He inspired, crouching: better getting started and avoid any unnecessary attention by the Daedra there. He could see the Sigil keep in the distance…and, if he remembered correctly, that was the tower that contained the Sigil stone. Well, duh, how surprising…the Sigil keeps the Sigil. Had he been in charge, he would have named them much more creatively! Like…don't know…Control Tower? Key Stone? Nah, still too dull.

He was busy figuring out names when he heard the sound of strife. He nocked an arrow, remembering suddenly _why _he was there. He moved towards the sound, trying to not make any noise, and stopped against a rock, which provided at least some kind of cover. Not far from his position, one guard was busy fighting two clannfears. He was clearly bleeding, but at least he was holding his own against the beasts. By the time Simhaud's arrow offed one of the Daedra, he had managed to get rid of the other.

"Pst! Over here, quick!" hissed the Nord, peeking from the rock. The Imperial, after a brief instant of shock, was quick to sneak towards safety. Before he could ask anything, Simhaud handed him an health potion: he needed all the help he could get to save Kvatch.

"Here. Drink this and when you feel better use the Gate: I will handle things here. Just don't take too long."

The other looked like he had to say something, but in the end he decided to take the bottle and to simply drink it.

"One of the guard told me there were more men here. Is there anyone else you know of?"

The guard looked at him for some seconds, before pointing to the Keep. Nice, he could get another soldier to fight without losing too much time to search for him! Talk about luck…

"They took Menien off to that big tower. I don't know if he's still alive, but…"

"Good, because I was headed that way. If he's alive, I'll try to save him." he added, dryly, before starting to sneak away.

"Hey. I don't know who you are, but…thanks, man."

He briefly turned his head, looking the guard for some seconds, and then nodded, before starting to move again.

The journey hadn't been easy, but he had reached the Keep relatively unscratched. Huge gates were closed on the most direct road that went towards the tower, and he had no other choice other than searching for another road. Sure, he could have used his own magic to open them, but he doubted that such display of power would go unnoticed. The "other road" had turned out to be a narrow mountain path, made with extremely frail rock, as he had learnt the hard way after the first time the terrain under him had collapsed and he had nearly escaped a painful fall into the lava below. He couldn't exactly rule out that the environment was trying to kill him, an intruder, but, after seeing a Spider Daedra getting crushed by some falling debris coming from above her, he was more convinced that the Deadlands were trying to kill _everything_. Which was nice, because the place was swarming with Dagon's minions and a little help was always welcome.

Eventually the rocky path started to get more larger and more stable, which meant that he wasn't risking anymore his life every step he took…and that his destination was near. In fact, the Keep was just in front of him, so near that he could see the Dremora guards in front of the door to the tower. Dear himself, he was starting to grow an intense hatred for those Dremora. Their screeches were so ugly to hear! It was like a bunch of people was gargling with some nails in their mouth, and added to that sound there was the usual reverberation lesser Daedra had in their voices. In short: a _horrible _sound. His Aureals and Mazken were so much pleasant to hear, even when they were emitting the last gurgling sound that usually accompanies a violent death…but he was digressing. He shook his head, then aimed an arrow at one of them. The sound the other Daedra made after witnessing a serious case of arrow in the skull in his companion meant that he had definitely noticed and that soon his position would be discovered. Plus, the guard was now aware of the presence of an archer, and he had erected a magic shield to protect himself. He wouldn't be able to pierce that shield with his arrows, he realized. He fixed his bow on his back, unsheathing the enchanted short sword he had bought in the Imperial city. He had always been pretty good with a sword, even if he preferred sniping his enemies from afar, and now was the time to prove it.

He moved quietly, hidden in the shadow of the rocks, circling the Dremora. His plan was to backstab him, or to cut his throat…plain that failed spectacularly because the guard suddenly turned around just as he was ready to strike. He had no other choice other than fight, now. He dodged by a hair's breadth the mace that was trying to crush his chest and, while his enemy was still trying to absorb the momentum of his own weapon before attacking again, he leaped forward, aiming for the throat. The enchanted sword cut through the flesh like butter, leaving an unpleasant smell of charred meat in the air. Uh, conning that merchant into giving him that sword for almost nothing had been one of the best choices of his life, he thought while the Dremora fell on the ground, gurgling sounds exiting from his mouth along with copious amounts of blood. Well, he had been lucky: if the guard had been wearing an helmet, read "heavy armored protection for his neck", killing him wouldn't have been so easy. Anyway, he planned to contact Boethiah or Mephala as soon as possible, Goldbrand or the Ebony Blade wouldn't had no problem whatsoever even against Daedric armor. Oh, well, he would have thought about that later. Now, he had a Gate to close, he thought while opening the doors and entering into the Keep.

* * *

He wasn't really impressed about the tower, honestly. Really, Dagon? All he could think when designing his plane was "Let's slap red and black (and this depressing shade of brown) everywhere, it will look so demonic! Oh myself, I'm such a baddie with all those spikes and gore everywhere! Now I'll laugh maniacally while I throw a puppy in the central pillar of energy!", or something? Damn, even the swamps of Dementia had more class than this place.

He scoffed, opening another door. He had been trying to get on the top of the tower for almost twenty minutes now and he was starting to feel a little sick of the environment. He really hoped this was the last Gate he had to clo…oh, who are we kidding. He would close damned Gates until the whole situation was resolved, didn't he? The rusty laugh of a Dremora snapped him out of his internal tantrum, forcing him to pay attention on what was happening in the room he had just entered.

The room was taller that the other chambers he had been into, even if definitely less wide. A spiral ramp of…whatever metal Dagon and his servants seemed so fond of…lead up to a glass platform. He could see the general form of the Dremora up there and, around him, a lot of red (probably blood). Also, was that a cage or something? Well, he would discover soon. He nocked an arrow, before starting to silently climb the ramp. The Dremora torturer never saw his death…Ha! That teaches you to wear your nightgown even when you're doing your job! Oh, scratch that, he was wearing a robe. He shook his head, before directing his attention towards the cage in the middle of the platform, in which he could see an Imperial, passed out and covered by burns and wounds. He must had been the "Menien" the guard mentioned earlier. Simhaud put back his bow, before casting on the poor man one of the few healing spell he knew. After a few seconds, the man seemed to wake up, even if he was clearly in a ocean of pain.

"You okay?" asked Simhaud, ending the spell. The man nodded, before pointing to the corpse of the Dremora nearby.

"Take the Keeper's key. Get to the Sigil Keep, and find the Sigil Stone. It's the only way to close the Gate! Don't worry about me, I don't have the strength to move…and there's no time!"

He already knew that, thank you very much. Still, having the key was definitely a good thing. He nodded, then went over the freshly created corpse. He hadn't to search for long before finding what he was looking for. He looked at it for some moments, before putting it away in his pocket. He nocked an arrow and then turned over to face the imprisoned Imperial.

"Thanks. May your soul be free." he said, adjusting his aim. He could see the guard nod, before closing his eyes. The arrow hit his heart, killing him on the spot.

* * *

_Finally_. After all that time into the tower, the simple sensation of fresh air against his face was incredibly pleasant. He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. He could almost sense the Sigil Stone...but he was aware that it was probably guarded. A quick detect soul spell (its noise mercifully covered by that kind of clanking sound that was anywhere in that tower) later and his suspicions were confirmed: there was indeed a lone Daedra on the highest platform. He sighed, before starting to move again, hidden in the shadow of the nearest wall. Simhaud quickly realized that, unless the guard decided to stare intently at the Stone for the next minute, he was going to be detected the very moment he stepped on the…staircase (he really wanted to throw another tantrum directed at Dagon's taste, but he realized it probably wasn't a good idea at the moment. Still, using huge spikes as steps was really tasteless). He closed his eyes, fixing again his bow on the back: this battle was going to be fought with swords.

As he predicted, the Dremora guarding the stone spotted him halfway through the stairway. Simhaud abandoned the crouching position he had used until that moment and started to run, while his opponent did the same. They clashed halfway the second level of the Sigillum, shortsword against claymore. Simhaud evaded easily the other's first blow, that hit the ground. He was just trying to replicate his earlier stunt with the Keep guardian when he got hit by a firewall squarely in the chest. The impact of the spell sent him flying briefly backwards before hitting the ground. He rolled away quickly, just in time to avoid to be impaled by a Daedric claymore. Damn, the Dremora was terribly fast, considering he was using a fucking two handed sword! He managed to get up and this time he also managed to avoid the spell that the guard throw at him. Okay, time to get serious. They studied each other for a moment, before the Daedric warrior charged forward. Simhaud waited until the very last second before dodging, and the guard flung forward, unable to reverse his momentum. Apparently physics were his best friends that day, he thought while he jumped over the Dremora, making him fall on the ground and pinning him down with his own weight. Before the warrior could shake him off his back, he stabbed the Dremora's neck with the shortsword, pushing in the blade up to the hilt. He didn't remove the sword until he felt the body under him going limp, while a terrible smell of charred meat spread in the air.

He got up, unsheathing the sword, before reaching for one of the health potions he had with him and drinking it with one gulp. He then started to walk up the ramp that lead to the glass platform on top of the tower: now he could clearly see the Stone, immersed in the pillar of bright, hot lava that started at the base of the Keep. He put his hands on the Sigil, feeling its heat even through his leather gloves, and then he pulled it away with a quick gesture. The world around him started to shake like an earthquake and dissolve in a bright, white light. A sudden flash made him close his eyes and, when he re-opened them, the only thing he could see was a group of really, really terrified guards.

* * *

"Wow…I really didn't think you could kill a Daedra that way."

Simhaud looked at the awestruck Altmer guard behind him briefly, before shrugging.

"Lesser Daedra die like everyone else if you pierce their hearts. Well, not die-die, you know, immortality, but…" he concluded, waving his hand in the air as a dismissive gesture. "Anyway, I think those were the last, for now. And look, that's the Chapel. Did you say that any survivor would probably be there?"

"Aye. We should regroup and go inside to heal our wounds and catch our breath, before other Daedra arrives." said a voice behind them. It was Savlian Matius, the commanding officer he had spoken with before entering the Gate. Simhaud nodded, putting back his bow and starting to follow the guard towards the Chapel. He really hoped Martin was inside, because if he wasn't that meant that the man was now deader than dead, and the plan with him. He shook his head: if he had really been killed surely Boethiah or Mephala would have contacted him. Meanwhile Matius was shouting something along the lines of "We're the guards, let us in" in front of the thick wooden doors of the Chapel of Akatosh. After a few moments the door was opened by one Priestess, who gestured them to come in. Well, time to meet the next Emperor, uh?

* * *

"_Foxes_."

Sheogorath was going to _pay_ for that, he thought grimly lifting one of the cubs (that started to whimper pathetically) from the wooden crate where others of those…_things_…were still wiggling around. The offer had arrived only minutes before, and his servants had had the splendid idea to bring it to him without checking what was inside that box first. Oh, yes, Sheogorath was really going to regret this. Him, and his own fucking followers that had fallen for the Madgod lies like the idiots they were. Oooh, he had already some ideas on how properly torture them, in their current lives and their next. But first he would have gutted every single one of those fucking cubs and sent their remains to the Shivering Isles…or maybe he should have dumped them directly on Sheogorath's head. Much better, yes…he had just to…

"You wanted to talk to…What do you have there, Bal?"

A voice behind him made the Prince almost jump (and squeeze the little animal he had in his hand), but he regained control fast enough to suppress that movement (and to not crush the fox). He quickly put the hand with the cub behind his back, covering the crate with his body, proceeding then to wear his most charming smile, only to fail spectacularly.

"Azura! I wasn't expecting you so soon…"

It didn't work, obviously.

"Don't try to change the subject, Molag Bal! What are you hiding behind your back?" she said, trying to peek over him.

"Azura, don't..!"

"Oh…Oh!"

She stopped, her eyes growing wide. Dammit Sheogorat! His reputation was ruined, ruined! Oh no, he wouldn't let this slide! He was going to reduce the Shivering Isles to a pile of scrap and then torture all the residents! Wait, maybe he could pretend he had those things sent specifically to be culled, or something.

"Wait, I can…"

Azura laughed, taking the cub from his hand, only to proceed to stroke gently its fur.

"Oh, Molag, how nice of you! How did you know I like foxes so much?"

He remained with his mouth open for some seconds, processing the situation. Well, at least Sheogorath hadn't lied about the foxes (maybe he should have spared the Isles for that). How did he know, however? Not the time to ask that question, though...better patch up the situation. He smiled, trying to sound relaxed.

"Oh…Well…I thought it would be…a suitable present for you? And you don't really like my realm, so I thought…uhm…this would make your visit more…pleasant?"

Azura stopped petting the fox just to look at him quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"Wait. You, trying to be nice? Is this a trick?"

"No! Look, I don't have the urge to torture everything I see."

"Last time I checked, you did."

He groaned, but honestly she _did _had a point. Damn her!

"Fine! I don't wish to torture _you_. Are you happy now?" he hissed, in the end, crossing his arms. Azura's reaction was to laugh again, before proceeding to kneel on the side of the crate and to start petting all the others animals. She lifted her eyes, smiling towards the other Prince.

"I was only teasing, Bal. I appreciate your efforts to patch our alliance up, really…but you don't have to worry so much. Just being civil around me and my followers is enough."

He muttered something under his breath in return, which got a little laugh out of Azura."Anyway, I had a chat with Mephala earlier, and you won't believe what Dagon managed to do…perhaps he's not that stupid, after all." she continued, getting up, with one of the cubs still in her hands. Molag uncrossed his arms: he was starting to like that conversation…or not. He really wondered what Dagon was up to, this time. He just hoped it was nothing Sheogorath couldn't fix.


	4. Chapter 3

The Chapel was dark, with only a few candles spreading their feeble light around. He could see more or less twenty mortals there, their shapes lumped one near the other in the effort to ward away cold and fear. He approached a Bosmer woman, busy dividing one loaf of bread in two, presumably to give it to the two children near her. The woman noticed his presence and lifted her eyes, looking at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"Excuse me. I'm searching for a priest of this Chapel…his name is Martin. Do you know where he is?" he asked, one tone away from a whisper. The woman nodded, but never managed to answer, because a voice behind them did that for her.

"It's me. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."

The man that had just spoken (with a really, really disillusioned voice) was an Imperial, probably thirty years old, dressed in a simple dark gray robe. While Simhaud couldn't be sure about the color of the hair, he had the same piercing blue eyes he had seen on the Emperor. He turned towards the priest, leaving the Bosmer alone. The idea of perpetually scarring the poor mortal by telling him everything at once passed in his mind, but he put it away almost immediately.

"Well, I don't know about the Divines' role in all of this, but there's indeed a plan. And, believe it or not, you're the keystone."

Martin didn't seem to took that very well. He frowned, looking at the Nord in front of him with a mixture of perplexity and distrust.

"Really, a plan? In case you didn't noticed, I'm just a priest. If you came to me for help, well, you're more crazy than you look."

Well, he did have a point, even if he couldn't possibly know why. Simhaud shook his head, starting to get irritated by that conversation.

"Fine, I'll just tell you, we don't have any time to lose in idle chat. You are the son of the late Emperor, other than the last Septim remaining."

Well, that sure shook the man. Damn, he looked like he had just received an electric shock!

"Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the emperor is my father? No, you must have the wrong man. I am a priest_ of __Akatosh_. My father was a farmer." he muttered in the end, after a few moments of silence.

"I don't think: I _know_. And anyway…Why do you think the Daedra out there put so much effort to destroy this little town?" he replied, lowering his voice to avoid being heard by anyone else than Martin.

Now on the man's face there wasn't only shock: there was a lot of shock and fear in equal part. Not that he could exactly blame him...

"An…entire city destroyed to get at me? Why? ... Because I'm the emperor's son?"

"Do you think I'm lying?" he said, a tiny smile forming on his lips.

"I don't know. It's strange... I think you might actually be telling the truth. But…What does this mean? What do you want from me?"

His voice was now filled with doubt and confusion. He reminded him of…no, never mind.

"We need to get you out of there. I can't say much more here, but you're our only hope to stop all of this."

"No. I'm sorry, but even if what you say is true, I won't abandon these people to their fate. I'll go with you when we can all leave here together."

He nodded and…Wait. What. **NO!** Ugh, that stupid mortal! For a moment he seriously considered the idea of simply hitting him in the head and then drag away his unconscious body to safety, but that would basically destroyed his chances to gain the Septim's trust. And the expression on the priest face meant that he wouldn't have budged on that point. **Dammit! **

"Oh, fine! I'll clean this town myself if that's what it takes!" he almost shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration before storming away towards Matius.

* * *

"I…have never seen before someone butchering an enemy with such fury."

Merandil nodded, warming his hands with the fire they had lightened in the empty hall of Castle Kvatch, now devoid of the Daedra but filled with blood.

"I know Jesan, I know! There was a moment I was more scared about him than those huge Daedroths he was fighting."

"You know what? I think they were scared shitless too."

The Imperial shuddered, feeling an intense sensation of cold descending his back, before taking a long sip of ale from a bottle someone had kindly provided. Perhaps alcohol was all he needed to forget that day…

"Hey. Do you know who he was?"

Dammit, Merandil. The last thing he wanted to do was to think again about that Nord. To his immense joy, it was Ilend Vonius that answered.

"I haven't the slightest clue, but he's alright in my book. Hadn't been for him that Gate would still be open, and I would be still stuck there. So I couldn't care less who he is, unless he turns out to be the mastermind behind all of this." he paused, taking a sip out of a little bottle, probably an health potion. "I don't really envy that priest, though."

Merandil nodded.

"Yeah. I wonder what was his business with Brother Martin…"

"Meh, we'll probably never discover it. Not that I care much, all things considered."

* * *

He really hadn't expected the Nord to return so soon, covered in blood and accompanied by the first lights of a new day he wouldn't had expected to see. He would have had a little trouble believing that he had managed to kill all the remaining Daedra in the city in only one night, but the definitely shaken guard behind him had assured everyone that the town was indeed safe, and that they could leave the Chapel any moment now. Though, he had to admit that the Daedric aura he had felt covering the city since the day before was now gone, so they weren't lying. He was still immersed in these thoughts when the Nord approached him, now wearing the cuirass of the city guards to replace his old leather armour.

"Well, everyone is safe, just in time for breakfast. Can we go now?" had been his 'greeting', uttered with an absolutely flat tone. He was clearly still pissed for early, but Martin knew he had done the right thing: if the attack had really been his fault, then staying with the people that had suffered for it until the end was his duty.

"Wait. Are you telling me that you want to leave now? Without resting first? You've been fighting for hours!"

He seemed almost insulted by such proposition…as if the weariness he could clearly read in his crumpled shoulders and in the bags under his eyes was some kind of weakness he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Look, I will rest when you will be in a safe place."

He was really as stubborn as a mule! Well, he should have guessed earlier, when even an army of Daedra hadn't managed to stop him. Still, if there was really some kind of danger waiting in a metaphorical dark corner just waiting for the chance to kill him, then having the only one around there that seemed to know what was happening on the verge of falling asleep, thus becoming an easy target, wasn't probably the best idea.

"Really? Judging how the walls crumbled during the attack, I doubt there's something like 'a safe place'. I know Kvatch isn't exactly safe right now, but I really doubt anyone would risk another attack here so soon. It's the best time to get some sleep!"

His logic seemed to convince the Nord, that begrudgingly agreed.

"Fine. Only two hours, though."

"Three."

"Fine, three hours. But then we depart immediately, no 'buts' or 'ifs'."

He nodded, before remembering something he had wanted to ask for a while now.

"Oh, by the way…you seem to know my name, but I don't know yours."

The Nord abandoned his frown for a moment, assuming a more neutral expression.

"Oh…right. It's Simhaud. " he said, before pointing to the door "Now, I believe we should go to the refugee camp with all the others. I'd rather not stay here any minute longer."

"Agreed. Let's go."

* * *

He spent the following three hours preparing something to take with him during the travel (destination still unknown) and trying to make sense of the situation he had found himself into. He had prayed for an answer to the Daedra attack and now that he had received it he wasn't so sure he liked it. And tied to that unpleasant matter there was the fact that he was, apparently, the son of the late Emperor. Daedric invasions, a bastard child…that seemed like the beginning of a ballad, honestly. He sighed, closing the bag he had been kindly given by Oleta, the chief healer of the Chapel…well, former chief healer of the former Chapel, now.

"Oh, good. I was just about to ask you to take some supplies, but you already did that."

Simhaud's voice startled him, he really hadn't heard the Nord getting near. The other seemed to not notice…or maybe he did and didn't say anything about it, which was more likely.

"I'll go look for a horse for you to ride…Can you go an retrieve mine? It's a paint horse, and the last time I saw her she was with one of the guards."

"Sure. Let's meet again out of the camp when we're done."

Finding said horse hadn't been that hard. He had had to simply ask about 'the Nord's paint horse' to be direct towards the animal in question. It was a fine animal, he concluded after examining her. He patted her gently, before guiding her towards the rendezvous point. He hadn't to wait for long before he saw the Nord come towards him, guiding a black horse. Suddenly the mare started to get really agitated, and, had he not been fast enough to cast a calm spell on the animal, he would had surely been trampled by the terrified horse.

"Woah! I wonder what made her react that way….wait."

Now that Simhaud and the black horse were nearer, he could definitely sense the magicka field of a spell surrounding the animal.

"Why does that horse have a spell on it?! It's your presence that scares those animals so much?! "

The Nord scoffed, looking sideways.

"Yes, I'm afraid. Animals aren't really fond of me."

Martin looked at him for some seconds, not sure what to say.

"…That's…an understatement." he said, in the end, shaking his head. Simhaud scoffed again, before mounting the black horse.

"You can ride the other. I think she'll prefer not to have to be rode by me two times in a row."

That was…thoughtful. He really wondered why horses hated him so much, especially the one the Nord had never seen before since that day. Oh, well.

"Anyway, are you going to tell me where are we going?" he asked in the end, after finding a comfortable position in the saddle. Simhaud, predictably, shook his head while guiding his horse towards the road that departed from Kvatch.

"Nope. Too risky. Come on, follow me." he said, spurring his horse. Martin had no other choice if not follow the Nord…and hope for the best.

* * *

"Now that I think about it, isn't it strange that we didn't encounter even one predator on the road? I heard that this woods were swarming with mountain lions."

Damn, Martin. He really had to ask all those questions?

"Well, we meet a bandit earlier. That counts as a predator?"

"…Not the kind of predator I was thinking about, to be honest."

He scoffed, cursing internally. The less everyone noticed all the strange things that happened around him, the better. He could really not risk to be suspected even by his (temporary) allies.

"Well, good luck is always well welcomed. Look, that's Weynon Priory. We're almost arrived." he said, dryly. He was about to feel thankful for the end of that journey when he felt it. Daedric magic, definitely not a good sign.

"Simhaud…? I think I sense…"

While he would have loved to ask why a priest had a level of perceptiveness of Daedric magic on the same level of the one of an avatar of a Daedric Prince, he had worse concerns at the moment…like the assassins that had apparently found and besieged the Priory.

"Yes, we definitely have company. Get ready to fight if you can! **HYA**!" he said, spurring his horse in a gallop. There were five assassins in the Priory courtyard…well, four after he trampled one of them with his mount, and three after a well-placed fireball hit another…Nice shot, Martin. Simhaud used the few second of distraction the magic attack provided to jump off his horse and unsheathing his shortsword, ready to plunge it in the nearest attacker.

Once again, the assassins proved themselves to be nothing more than a nuisance. Simhaud had definitely more trouble keeping them away from Martin than actually kill them…well, not really, he didn't had much trouble dealing with them because he had dispatched them as soon as they barely tried to go for the heir. He did, however, had a lot more of trouble calming the terrified Dunmer herdsman, that wouldn't shut up about some Prior Maborel that had apparently died in the attack. He was still trying in his desperate task when he noticed Jauffre exiting from the Chapel, covered in blood and a katana in his hands. He promptly proceeded to ignore the Dunmer, going towards the old Blade.

"Simhaud! Thanks the Gods you're here. He's the heir?" he said, eyeing Martin.

"Aye. Saved just in time from Kvatch, before an horde of Daedra could kill everyone inside."

"I heard the rumors that the town had been attacked…I'm glad you managed to rescue him anyway. However, I fear that our victory is still far away…"

Simhaud really didn't like that last phrase. He was about to ask an explanation, when a voice behind him interrupted whatever he was going to say.

"Sorry to bother, but what in Akatosh name is going on? First Daedra, now these assassins…I know this may not be the best time, but I think I have the right to know."

His voice was low, as if he was afraid to speak, but firm, like that time in the Chapel. Simhaud immediately knew he wouldn't bulge on that point…stubborn little mortal, but at least now he had a point. Jauffre nodded, sheathing his weapon.

"I understand your concerns, and I will be more than happy to explain to you. However, we must first check something…I'm afraid the attack was not aimed to your life, this time, but instead to steal something else."

Uh oh. Simhaud had started to suspect where the old Blade was going…

"You don't mean that…"

"Yes. I fear that the Amulet of the Kings has been stolen and, with it, our chance to light the Dragonfires again."

* * *

"It's odd, though."

Martin turned towards the old Blade, currently riding a horse behind him.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jauffre shook lightly his head, then looked straight to the Nord in front of them, busy scouting the road leading to Bruma.

"There was a bear on the road earlier…it happens, in the roads that go through the Jerall Mountains. However the second it saw us…well, he started to run away."

Martin couldn't help but to look forward too, before shrugging and turning his head towards the Breton. He wondered if he should mention also the whole horse ordeal, but in the end decided against it. Unless it turned to be relevant somehow, he saw no reason to tell anyone.

"Oh. Yes, I wondered about that too. It seems that animals just hate Simhaud really, really much."

There were some seconds of silence, before Jauffre started to speak again.

"I must admit, he's really strange…and probably not completely sane. But he seem like a capable warrior, and the Emperor trusted him enough to send him in this journey."

Martin couldn't help feeling surprised about that statement.

"The Emperor…sent him? I thought you were the one who...recruited him."

"No. He said he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that the Emperor trusted him because of some prophetic dreams he had. May his soul rest in peace." he concluded, with a small sigh. Martin was about to ask more, when the Nord came back, announced by the sound of his horse's hoofs on the stone road. If he had heard their conversation, he didn't show: instead, he pointed north-west, towards the snowy mountains and the barely visible walls of a city.

"Everything looks clear ahead. Oh, and that's Bruma down there, so I guess our journey is almost over. Are we stopping in the city?"

"No. Our destination is not far from the city, and it's better not to draw too much attention."

"So…where are we headed?" Martin asked.

"Cloud Ruler Temple…or the main base of the Blades in Cyrodiil, if you prefer. There's no safer place I can think of, right now."

Simhaud nodded, briefly.

"Good. It will be good to not have to worry about Martin's safety while we try to get back what was stolen. Let's go, then. I'd rather not be still on the road when the dark falls."

The former priest and the former monk both nodded, spurring their horses to follow Simhaud. Once again, Martin wondered what fate had in store for him…well, he would find out soon, he supposed.

* * *

It had been just business, at first. A couple of thieves had disappeared in the Nibenay Bay's area, nothing unusual except for the fact that their bodies were never found…which wasn't very unusual, had a professional assassin or the Dark Brotherhood been involved. Thus he would had happily continued to ignore the whole situation if one of the disappeared thieves hadn't popped out from nowhere one day, muttering nonsense about a butterflies and bones. The Gray Fox had sighed, left Christophe in charge of the Guild, kissed Methredhel goodbye and resigned himself to a lengthy trip towards Bravil.

It didn't took too long to discover the isle in the middle of the Bay, as if the strange place and its even stranger portal had wanted to be found by him. The realization that they indeed wanted to be found by him came definitely too late, when there was already no way out, but perhaps it had been a good thing. It didn't took too much to enter the portal, it didn't took too much to find a way to pass the gigantic gatekeeper, it didn't took too much to reach New Sheoth and talk with the Madgod. He knew he wasn't supposed to get involved: his job had been completed the seconds he had found out the nature of the Isles, after all. A part of him, however, was having too much fun for him to return to Cyrodiil so soon…besides, not doing what Sheogorath, a Daedric Prince, was asking was the stupidest thing he could think of, especially in the realm of said Prince.

He had soon found himself caring for that piece of Oblivion more than he should really have, and the most alarming thing was the lack of alarm on his part. It just felt so…natural. The breathtaking skies that seemed to dance just for him, the people that, while completely and utterly bonkers, seemed to have been around him forever, the eerie and subtle charm of the swamps of Dementia, the vibrant danger of Mania's forests…the more he saw them, the more he loved them.

Then, it came. Sheogorath had told him, of course, but the true meaning of the Greymarch had eluded him until then. There would be nothing left had Jyggalag succeeded: everything reduced to ash and cold crystals, guarded by soulless abominations. Suddenly, it wasn't just 'I'm doing what Sheogorath asked because I value my life' anymore: it was 'I won't let Jyggalag win because I want to protect this place'. He had took the mantle of the Duke of Dementia without hesitation, following the Madgod's orders, and now he had just restored the Aureals' control on Brellach…Thadon would have paid dearly for his betrayal, he thought bitterly.

The Mazken guard in front of Sheogorath's palace nodded briefly, acknowledging his presence, before letting him pass. He pushed the doors open, entering the dimly lit throne room. He conceded himself a little bit of hope: while Thadon was still somewhere out there, he was sure he could thwart every other attempt he made. He was more worried about the revelation that Sheogorath and Jyggalag were the same being, honestly, but the Madgod had a plan, no? Perhaps, this time, things would finally start to go their way.


	5. Chapter 4

_Hello, everyone! I want to thank all of you for your support and visits (1000 views in two months, for my first story here? Wow!), it means a lot to me!  
__Please feel free to leave a comment, critics (as long as it's constructive, obviously. No one likes "Dis story suks!11!one!" comments) or whatever you want! In the meantime...Enjoy!_

* * *

Simhaud approached Martin after his brief speech had ended and the Blades, come into the fortress' courtyard to salute him, had begun to disperse.

"Not much of a speech, was it? Didn't seem to bother them, though. The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim..." he said, ending the phrase with a deep sigh.

The Nord shrugged. The speech hadn't been that great, honestly, Martin had been too nervous and insecure to sound even vaguely like a good orator. He was unsure for a moment whether it was appropriate for him to put an hand on the Emperor's shoulder, but in the end he decided against it.

"Oh well. You'll get better, I'm sure. And if you have trouble seeing yourself as an Emperor, I can always call you 'Your Majesty' and bow every time I see you."

Martin chuckled, even if the little laugh didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren't for you…and I thank you for that. But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do…How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven't the faintest idea..."

He felt a twinge of sympathy for the man…He definitely knew how one could feel in that position. This time he did not hesitate: he patted lightly the Imperial's shoulder, an encouraging smile on his face. To Oblivion with protocol and everything!

"Come on, starting is always difficult…but look at the bright side! You have Jauffre and the Blades to help you!" he said. "Oh. And me, of course. Speaking of which, I believe I have an Amulet to recover. I'd better go and speak to Jauffre, I'm sure he has already some kind of plan."

Martin nodded, seemingly encouraged by the Nord's words.

"Yes, I think it's the best course of action."

The former priest was starting to leave, when Simhaud suddenly remembered something he had wanted to do for quite some time. He made his best impression of a confused face, then shrugged.

"Honestly, however, I don't fully understand how the Amulet will help us stop this invasion."

It was a lie, obviously: he knew all too well how the Amulet was to be used to stop Dagon, but he was curious about Martin's knowledge on the matter.

"Well…All practitioners of Daedric magic are familiar with the almost impenetrable barrier between our world and Oblivion. What the Emperor told you implies that the Amulet is the key to the preservation of that barrier. Now, what I saw at Kvatch... everything I know about Daedric magic says that such stable portals are impossible. Yet those gates to Oblivion existed."

Oh, so he _knew_ about Daedric magic. There was definitely something going on…I mean, come on, how did a simple priest display such knowledge and affinity to that type of magic? Apparently our pious brother hadn't been always so righteous…not that he complained about that. Oh well, he would have discussed it another time, now he had better things to do.

"The old rules no longer apply. Kvatch is only the beginning of what Mehrunes Dagon will do. If the Amulet is truly the key to restoring the barriers between our world and Oblivion, you must waste no time in recovering it."

* * *

He really wasn't expecting to be back to the Imperial City so soon…or, better, he wouldn't had expected to return so soon alone. Ah, if only he had managed to stop Dagon's minions from stealing the Amulet...alas, the past couldn't be changed, so he'd better start working for a better future instead. He sighed before pushing the doors of the inn, the one where he was supposed to meet a Blade agent, open. The Luther Broad's Boarding House (let's not comment on the stupidity of that name, shall we?) was almost empty, mainly because it was very late in the morning but not near enough to lunch to have more hungry customers. However, he recognized almost immediately the Redguard Blade currently busy drinking something…he really hoped it was water, because having him already drunk was definitely not a good thing. Anyway, it was nice to see him again…unless Baurus wanted his money back, because in that case he would have had to stab him and then drop his body in the lake…before robbing him again, that is.

He was going to go and greet him when he noticed something…odd in his behavior. While an unaware guest would have judged him relaxed, he could almost _feel_ the Blade's tension (being so attuned to his Dementia side had its perks, after all). The quick glances he shot furtively from time to time were another signal that the situation wasn't good at all and the brief look that Baurus gave him, once he heard someone coming in, was the final clue he needed to start worrying. Simhaud calmly walked in and sat beside the Redguard, ordering something to drink just to not blow his cover. He then gave a quick glance and an almost imperceptible nod to the Blade, just to let him know that he was playing along...Well, it's not like he could say much with just a glance, honestly, but at least he had let the other know that he had recognized him and the danger in their situation...whatever that was.

"Listen. I'm going to get up in a minute and walk out of here. That guy in the corner behind me will follow me. You follow him."

That was barely more than a whisper, but he understood anyway. He picked up the mug of water the innkeeper had given him, giving him a quick nod...or at least, that was the impression he wanted to give. His gesture was most definitely not directed towards the place's owner.

"Good."

He brought the mug to his mouth, drinking a few sips of the refreshing liquid, before giving the innkeeper a coin. He had almost finished to drink when Baurus got up, leaving two Septims on the counter and going towards a door…probably the cellar, Simhaud realized. After a few moments he noticed an old Breton, who had previously been occupied reading a book in a corner, getting up and going towards the same door. Really, an old man? Oh, well. He shrugged, before silently jumping out of his stool and following the follower. Heh, he liked the sound of it. When he was sure to be out of sight of the innkeeper he unsheathed his shortsword and entered the door the other two had taken…had he mentioned that the Breton had left it open? What an idiot. He shook his head while he closed it, and then went down the few steps that led to the cellar. He arrived just in time to see the old man with a dagger in his hand and the other lifted to summon the useless armour (yes, he was sure. The feeling that spell gave him was unmistakable) those cultists were so fond of...and just in time to slit his throat before he could actually do it, obviously. Baurus seemed surprised, but in the end he just shrugged and went to examine the freshly created corpse.

"Lethal as always. I just hope we didn't just kill some innocent old man…"

"Nah, he was summoning the armour all those idiots seem to like so much. And, let's be honest, he had a dagger. Unless he wanted to use it to cut some cheese, I'd say it was for you."

"Good point. Hey, look at this."

Baurus took out a book from the man's satchel and, after Simhaud had a good look at its cover, he opened it and started to scanning it rapidly.

"Isn't it the book he was reading earlier?"

"Yes, indeed. Anyway, while you were busy rescuing the heir…good job, by the way…we investigated and discovered a little more about those assassins. Apparently, they're some Daedric sect called the Mythic Dawn…Oh, look at this book. It seems like some kind of propaganda for new recruits."

"Let me see…"

He took the book and read a few lines…Boooooring. Dagon would have better recruited someone else to write his holy (unholy?) books, next time.

"Perhaps we should take this to the Arcane University…There's an expert of Daedric cults…an argonian, Taar-Mena…that could give us some hints about this. I've contacted her before, but now, with something more concrete to give her, perhaps we can know a little more about all of this."

Oh, good idea. Simhaud was definitely an expert of Daedric cults, but more in the sense that he had several of them dedicated to worship him than in the sense of someone who studied them.

"Let's go, then. We don't have any time to lose."

* * *

He knew there was something wrong even before anyone could speak. Sheogorath wasn't on his throne, but was instead standing next to Haskill. Simhaud couldn't see the Prince's face, but the expression of the normally deadpan chamberlain was nothing good. He was going to announce his presence when the Madgod turned, signaling him to come closer with a quick gesture of his hand.

"Time. Time is an artificial construct. An arbitrary system based on the idea that events occur in a linear direction at all times. Always forward, never back. Is the concept of time correct? Is time relevant? It matters not."

He really didn't like the unusually flat and sad tone…other than the words themselves. He felt a shiver run down his spine…he wanted to say something, but his tongue refused to move. Sheogorath sighed, before continuing to talk.

"One way or another, I fear that our time has run out. As I feared it would, My plan has failed. The Greymarch is upon us, and I must go. I thought we had more time. I thought we had a chance. My plan has failed. And we were so close..."

Simhaud could almost feel the world around him shatter…No! He refused to give up. He finally managed to speak, trying to rake up every ounce of determination he could muster at the moment.

"But…Brellach is operative again! I can stop Thadon and the other Priests if they try anything else, destroy every monolith I see…_I refuse to give up now!_"

He had almost shouted, but he doubted anyone cared. Sheogorath looked at him for some seconds, before…smiling? But there was infinite sadness in that expression, sadness and sorrow and regrets.

"Optimism! How adorable! I love it! Even at the end, you make me laugh…"

The smile faded almost immediately.

"No, I'm lying. That wasn't funny at all. No matter. Soon you and everyone else will be dead, and I will be left a mad god, ruler of a dead realm. Again."

Simhaud could feel his heart skipping a beat.

"What happens now is what always has happened - what always will happen. I crumble, I fade, the Realm dies. And you with it. Flee while you can, mortal. When we next meet I will not know you, and I will slay you like the others."

No! He wouldn't flee, he would fight until the end if it was what it took to stop Jyggalag…He needed to tell Sheogorath that!

He never managed to do it. Suddenly, a violent wave of power from the Madgod sent him flying backwards: he hit the ground before he could even register what had happened.  
_**  
"**_**The realm is**_** dead! **_**Sheogorath**_** is dead! **_**All shall crumble before**_** Jyggalag!"**_

The Prince in front of him…was no longer Sheogorath, he realized. He could feel the cold sensation he always had around Order's abomination…just a hundredth times stronger, a chill that, he could have sworn, could freeze all the blood he had in his veins. Sheo…Jyggalag looked at him for a moment, before disappearing in a bright light that left the Nord blind for a few seconds. He was still trying to get a hold of himself when he felt someone…which could only be Haskill…trying to put him again on his feet. He finally managed to get his legs to obey him and got up.

"So…it's over."

He couldn't look at the Breton…seeing the same dread he felt right now would have killed him.

"He is gone, yes, but hope is not lost."

What. He turned immediately his head. What he saw on the chamberlain's face wasn't desperation, but…it wasn't hope, either.

"We have a rare opportunity here, but I hesitate to do what must be done. If the Throne of Madness remains empty when Jyggalag storms the palace, he will prevail. But there is a chance that the throne may not be empty."

He really didn't like Haskill's expression, but…If there was still some possibility to win, then he would not give up so easily.

"Who will sit on the throne, then?" he said, trying to use his firmest tone.

The Breton offered him a little smile (which was quite the event, honestly) before continuing.

"Why, you will, of course. It has always been Sheogorath's intent for you to be the new Madgod."

Simhaud definitely wished he hadn't heard that.

* * *

Sewers.

_Again. _

Really, why his missions couldn't be something more like 'let's have a nice trek in the forest' or 'let's visit that quaint (and boring) village on the Silverfish River'. Nooo, it was always 'let's meet some crazy cultists in a sewer'! He scoffed, nocking an arrow. They had spent the previous day hunting for the books that completed the one they already had, because the Daedric expert (he still had trouble not finding funny that title) was convinced that those blasted tomes were the key to the Mythic Dawn's hidden sanctuary or something. They had managed to get two of them (other than the one they had found on the Breton), so now they only needed the last one. The terrified Bosmer he had forc…ahem, he meant 'he had convinced' to give them the third book also gave them a clue about the location of the fourth and last one. Apparently, finding those book was also some kind of initiation and, after finding the first three, you had to meet some kind of representative to get the last one. How charmingly useless…but he digressed. Now, Simhaud was perched on a walkway that overlooked the tiny room where Baurus was sitting in front of a table, waiting for the cultists to arrive. The Nord would have really preferred to be the one in that room, but the Blade had (correctly, he had to admit) pointed out that his own abilities would be more useful if he stayed hidden, ready to strike if something went wrong. And, he could bet his right arm on it, things would _surely_ go wrong.

A loud clanking noise from somewhere deeper in the sewers caught his attention, and he gripped more tightly the bow. He could now hear the sound of footsteps...sadly, the reverberation that both the stone walls and the nearby water offered meant that he couldn't understand from where the noises were coming. He could have used a detect soul spell, but that would have, sadly, made a very distinct sound, thus giving away his position. He was sighing inwardly when an Altmer, wearing a red robe, entered the room below. Any minute now…

"So. You want to become one of the Chosen of Lord Mehrunes Dagon."

Simhaud stopped listening almost immediately, partially because the speech was exceptionally dull and partially because he had seen the flash of other red robes on the other side of the gate that closed the walkway he was standing on. Yes, there were definitely two followers up there, great! And they were coming his way, even better! Troubles incoming in three, two…

"Wait! I've seen you before! You're the Blade that Brother Astav was trailing!"

Aaand there they were. He swiftly aimed his bow towards one of the cultists, that was opening the gate in front of him, then released the bowstring. The agonizing cry the man made when the arrow pierced his chest made both Baurus and the Mythic Dawn cultist spring up and unsheathe their weapons. Simhaud would have loved to jump down to help, but the fireball that missed him by a hair breadth made him realize that he had work to do first. He dodged the (slightly) more accurate second attempt to hit him by jumping, rapidly nocking an arrow while mid-air. Oooh, he really loved doing that…it made him look a total badass. He really hoped the cultist thought so too…at least before the arrow crushed his skull, that is. However, he was offered no time to admire his work: the sound of a lightning spell and a shout from Baurus meant that, down there, things weren't going as smoothly. He immediately jumped down the walkway, hoping that the Blade was still alive. He briefly saw the Redguard flying backwards (again? This was starting to become an habit…) for the impact of a spell casted by the Altmer (now covered by bound armour). He nocked an arrow, just as the cultist turned around…dammit, he must had heard him when he had landed. Well, at least he wasn't busy chopping Baurus with his sword. The arrow he shot bounced helplessly against the shield the enemy caster had erected at the last second…_Dammit_. The shock spell hit him almost without warning…oh, how he hated that kind of magic, it was definitely too fast to dodge. He gritted his teeth, while he threw away his bow and unsheathed his shortsword. He charged forward, refusing to get distracted by the searing pain that a second spell provoked when it hit his shoulder. His hand shone brightly as he casted one of his favourite spells on the Altmer in front of him. It was a gift he had obtained when he had crossed the Gates of Madness for the first time, years before, and had always served him well. The Blessing of Dementia was definitely not strong enough to make his enemy scared enough to flee, but it could still manage to stop him, horror coiling his mind, for a few seconds. Before Simhaud could do something else, a katana pierced the mer's chest, while the conjured armour disappeared in a puff of coloured smoke.

"Heh. Nice one, Simhaud. For a second I thought that you wanted to get hit by as many spells as possible."

The Blade removed the sword from the corpse, even if the gesture had evidently cost him a lot of fatigue. Simhaud noticed a large burn on his chest and a little cut on his right arm, but hey, at least he was alive. The Nord laughed, before sheathing his shortsword.

"For a second I thought you were dead! Here." he said, tossing the Redguard one small vial of health potion. It wasn't as effective as a full potion, obviously, but it had the not so small advantage that it could be contained in one of the little satchels he had on his belt. "Check our man while I go and pick up my bow."

He reached for his weapon and fixed his bow on his back, action that made the part of his arm and shoulder hit by the shock spells ache. Baurus emitted a satisfied 'Ah-ah!', before speaking again.

"Guess what? Our little friend here has what we were searching for. I guess all the burns we got ourselves weren't for nothing, in the end."

* * *

'GREEN EMPEROR WAY…WHERE TOWER TOUCHES MIDDAY SUN.'

Deciphering that phrase from all the gibberish written in those books hadn't been that easy, but he had to admit: Taar-Mena knew what she was doing. Perhaps he should have invited her to one of his own cults, when everything was over, to thank her for her help. Oh, well. He inspired, looking at the door of the tomb in front of him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while looking at the sky. Thankfully for his definitely limited patience it was almost midday, because he really wasn't so keen on the idea of waiting for hours. Wait…He could feel the power stir from it…any moment, now, and the thing would activate.

It was really subtle, at first, but soon the red glow was unmistakable. Following invisible lines the light spread on the door, drawing a rising sun and below, more interestingly, a map with a location marked with a red four-points star. Drat, he forgot to took with him a map! Wait a moment. Perhaps…He sighed, touching the surface with his left hand. Immediately images flooded his mind: the reflection of some trees in a lake, an old wooden door…and a route, spread out for him to follow. Well, that had been easy. He smiled, proud of himself, lowering his hand. Well, off to a secret den of insanity and murder he went!


	6. Chapter 5

"We don't have much time. Imbue the Staff into the Font of Madness."

Simhaud nodded, lowering the artifact into the now untainted water of the Font. He had to admit, killing Thadon had been more satisfying that he had expected…not that it mattered much now, really.  
He lifted the Staff, water dripping from it, feeling…exactly the same as before. He grimaced, and was about to ask more to Haskill when the doors of the throne room opened violently.

"My Lord! We're under attack!"

A Mazken hurried inside, before quickly bowing in front of him. Simhaud recognized her as the Autkendo…the captain of the Dark Seducers guards, that is. To see her in that state meant that the situation was definitely tragic.

"What's going on, Autkendo?"

She grimaced, before continuing.

"Order. An obelisk has activated just outside the Palace. I've ordered my Mazken to engage the enemy, and the Aureals are doing the same. I expect that this is the beginning of the final assault."

She paused for a second, then looked at him straight in the eyes.

"The cursed usurper Jyggalag himself may even take the field before the end. What are your orders, My Lord?"

My Lord. He hadn't noticed before, but the Mazken had used the honorifics for the Prince of Madness. Maybe it was the Staff he had in his hand, or maybe she sensed something more in him? Simhaud definitely didn't feel anything different, but now all the Isles looked at him as their Prince. That was the only thing that mattered, now: he had to defend them, like Sheogorath would have done. He unsheathed his sword Duskfang, which gleamed of a low azure light in the dim room, before speaking again.

"Then we will fight. We can't allow Jyggalag and the Greymarch to win!"

* * *

Finding the cavern hadn't been that difficult, honestly, especially with the route printed in his mind. But to enter without getting caught…well, that was another matter. In fact, he had been waiting (hidden in the shadows) for at least an hour for the Altmer guy in front of the door to move…without success. He would have just killed him with an arrow, but sadly that would have alerted all the cultists nearby...not that they worried him much, but what if they had the Amulet there, and the one carrying it managed to escape in the following chaos? No, that was definitely a bad idea. He was just about to go and talk with the Altmer (well, he could always pretend that he was there to join them, no?) when someone's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Why are you still there? Master Camoran will start the ceremony in a few minutes! Everyone is already inside."

The other scoffed, a pissed expression on his face.

"_I. Know_. They said that someone else would probably show up today, but my patience is almost over. I'll stay here another minute, then everyone that shows up that door can rot in Oblivion."

"Do as you wish, I'm going now. See you later."

He was not going to waste that opportunity. He counted up to twenty, while he armed the bow, and, when he was positively sure no one was still around, released the bowstring. It was a matter of seconds before the Altmer was on the ground, his skull pierced by a well-placed arrow. Simhaud didn't waste any time to search him. He found a key (probably for a door ahead) almost immediately, which he took with a large grin. That day was just starting to get better and better!

* * *

The cave where the 'ceremony' was to be held had a comfortable, dark perch that overlooked all the area of the massive shrine. Really Dagon? A giant statue of you? He scoffed, while nocking an arrow…just in case, he really didn't want to start shooting now, before understanding what was going on. The cultist from before mentioned some 'Master Camoran', which sounded like a really important person. Who knew, maybe he had there the little mortal leader of that den of idiocy, ready for him to reduce to a pincushion. Sadly, he doubted that was the case…not much the leader part, but the pincushion one. Just one arrow would have been enough to reveal his position, and hitting a vital point from that distance was definitely tricky. His best bet would be to just watch and wait for an occasion, without the risk of having the whole cult shooting fireballs at him.

Suddenly the crowd was silent, and he realized rapidly that the cause was the robed figure that was climbing the stairs of the altar. He realized even more rapidly that the necklace the Altmer wore was indeed the Amulet of Kings: bingo! He instinctively gripped his bow tighter, but he relaxed almost immediately. A good occasion, remember?

"Praise be! The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings. Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise!"

Pssh. He resisted the urge to scoff at those words, amplified by magic.  
_  
"_Hear now the words of Lord Dagon: '_When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever. As for the rest…the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon._'"

Oh dear himself, _no_. He could withstand anything but Dagon's rambling, really. Oh, and tickle. He really wasn't able to resist tickle either, but Dagon was definitely the greatest of the two evils.

"Your reward, brothers and sisters: the time of cleansing draws nigh. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"

Well, if the Altmer really thought that Dagon really gave a shit about him then he was more mad than he had expected, and honestly he was an expert in madness. He was about to muse a little more when, suddenly, a shining portal appeared behind that Camoran fellow. Simhaud realized too late what 'I go now to Paradise' meant…dammit! He gritted his teeth, looking around for a solution as the Altmer slipped away into the portal. His eyes fell almost immediately to the book on the altar, an invisible aura of Daedric magic surrounding it. Of course, if the portal had been opened once it could be opened again, and that book had to be the key to do it. So…he could try to sneak after everyone had left and stole it, but what if they had removed it after the deed was done? Plus, right now he definitely was in the mood for some old fashioned massacre, now that he could throw his cautions to the wind, and those cultists were just there to satisfy his need. He grinned: with the air saturated with Daedric magic, a little display of his true power would be completely covered. He relaxed, putting the arrow down, for the moment. He concentrated on the crowd below him, still buzzing with excitation for the speech…or it was something else? Bah, he didn't care. With a quick gesture of his hand he dispersed his spell on some of the cultists, almost seeing the result in his mind. He had to resist the temptation to burst into laughter when he heard the first shouts of blind rage, quickly followed by some terrified shrieks by the unaffected cultists. The first fireballs started to be launched almost immediately, turning the cave below into a fiery inferno. In the general chaos he even managed to snipe a few cultists with some lucky arrows, and he was pretty sure no one noticed.

Sadly, good things don't last forever: with a good part of the crowd dead, picking the frenzied cultists from the rest became easier, and they were quickly dispatched.

"…Brothers and sisters, quick! We must find who…"

The Altmer woman never finished the phrase, an arrow piercing her chest. Good, his aim was definitely improving, Simhaud thought with satisfaction. As the elf crumbled to the ground he put down his bow, unsheathed his shortsword and then leapt. Needlessly to say, the few remaining cultists didn't prove to be a challenge, falling to his blows one after another. He cleaned his trusty weapon on the robe of the last one, before sheathing it and going towards the altar. Now that he was nearer, he saw someone under the statue…someone really tied and really…naked? The Argonian looked at him, fear and a plea in his eyes.

"Oh? And who are you?" he said, trying to not look away from the lizard's face.

"I'm…Jeelius. They captured me and they were about to kill me when…"

He paused, trying to make his voice work. Simhaud didn't wait for him to finish, and unsheathed again his shortsword…which made the Argonian squirm in fear. Whops.

"Relax, I won't kill you." he said, laughing…which did nothing but scare the poor Argonian more.

"…Oh, man. I meant that I'm going to free you." he said in the end, finally managing to tranquilize the poor mortal.

Like he was to sacrifice someone to _Dagon_, he scoffed in his mind while he cut the ropes around the Argonian wrists, before doing the same to the ones around his ankles.

"Oh, and you'll better grab a robe and a dagger from one of the corpses down there. Running around naked and disarmed is going to make you a frozen lunch for some bear or something."

The Argonian, now standing in front of him, gave Simhaud a strange look.

"Thank you." he said, in the end, before going towards one of the fallen cultists. Simhaud looked at him for some seconds, before shaking his head. He went towards the book…amazing, even after the magic in the air had dissolved the aura surrounding the tome was still there. He should have noticed the book before, he realized, but he was too focused on the Amulet. Oh, well. He sighed, picking up the book. A terrible rumble immediately shook the place, almost throwing him off balance. He lifted his head, just in time to see the enormous statue above him crumble into pieces.

* * *

Deactivating the crystals and killing the Order's abominations, with the help of the guards, had been easy…definitely too easy. He had just, for one second, thought that perhaps, maybe perhaps, they had some possibility to win. How foolish of him.

"**Are you the best the Madgod could muster?**"

He was sure he had at least two broken ribs…just breathing was painful. He had barely got up when Jyggalag's sword came down again on him, blocked by the steel of Duskfang for a moment, before the sheer power of the Prince forced it down anyway. He rolled away a mere second before the sword could split his skull in two, his chest aching terribly.  
He was a fool to think he could win against a Daedric Lord. He was just a mortal, and like a mortal he was going to die there. Him, and the Isles with him.

"**Another of Sheogorath's foolish schemes!"**

Sheogorath. His face, the face he had had when he had told him there was no more hope, flashed in his mind. He had failed. He had failed everyone.

"He believed in you."

It took some moments to realize that it was him that had spoken. Even Jyggalag seemed surprised (well, he wasn't sure, he wasn't definitely an expressive fellow)…and probably confused by the meaning of that phrase. _He believed in him_. He knew he was a mortal, and still…he had deemed him worthy enough to be the one that had to save the Isles. _**He had believed in him**_. He had believed he could be Sheogorath…so why couldn't he? He found himself smiling.

"Foolish scheme? Oooh, yes, it is."

Jyggalag's sword fell again on him, and once again Duskfang's blade intercepted it. This time, however, it wasn't the Prince of Order the one to break the block. Simhaud's..._Sheogorath_'_s _sword shone bright, as he slammed it violently against his opponent's chest. He had tried before, just to find he was unable to breach the crystal...and now he was in awe, seeing the blade draw a long slash, crystal fragments flying everywhere. He almost wanted to laugh, but a part of him dragged back, screaming about the next move Jyggalag was about to make…and that he indeed made, just to find him ready to intercept it. He quickly gained the upper hand, his movements too fast and unpredictable for Jyggalag to follow. The Prince of Order definitely didn't appreciate that. He roared, before unleashing a wave of magic towards him, instead of the usual…_boring_…blow.

It was the last thing he did. Sheogorath was already elsewhere when the spell hit the ground…specifically, pouncing over the other Prince, Duskfang plunging deep into the crystal flesh that, he assumed, covered the Daedra's heart. Jyggalag glowed for a moment, lightened by the glare of the sword inside his chest…and then exploded in thousands of little crystals, while the shockwave flung his opponent away. The Nord hit the ground, but was quickly on his feet again, his sword ready into his hand. However, there was no need for it: the only thing that remained of Jyggalag was a floating vortex of energy, and a diaphanous head floating in the middle of it. He…had won?

"**Enough!** I am beaten. The Greymarch is ended."

He almost couldn't believe it…which meant that the temporary madness he had perceived while fighting the Prince was gone, or he wouldn't be so doubtful about his victory. Well, good: one Sheogorath was enough, honestly. He inspired, waiting for Jyggalag to transform back into the Prince of Madness.

Nothing happened. The floating head of the Prince of Order looked at him, before continuing his speech.

"For millennia this drama has unfolded, and each time, I have conquered this land, only to be transformed back into that gibbering fool, Sheogorath. It was not always so. Once, I ruled this Realm, a world of perfect Order. My dominion expanded across the seas of Oblivion with each passing era."

Why was he telling him that? Why wasn't he changing back? He felt a wave of panic, but he suppressed it. That was not the right time to lose his cool.

"The other Princes, fearful of my power, cursed me with Madness, doomed me to live as Sheogorath, a broken soul reigning in a broken land. Once each era, I was allowed my true form, conquering this world anew. And each time I did, the curse was renewed, damning me to exist as Sheogorath."

He paused, pondering.

"…Now, though, you have ended the cycle. You now hold the mantle of madness, and Jyggalag is free to roam the voids of Oblivion once more."

He felt like his ribs were being broken again (which probably _was _true, unless he had managed to heal on his own)…his ribs, and all of his bones. There was no Sheogorath. There had never been…it always had been Jyggalag, masquerading as the God of Madness. He had always been a lie. Once more, he found himself wanting to say something…perhaps accusing the Prince of lying, simply insulting him…but nothing came. His mouth was as dry as the sands of Elsweyr.

"I will take my leave, and you will remain here, mortal. Mortal...? King? God? It seems uncertain. This Realm is yours. Perhaps you will grow to your station. Fare thee well, Sheogorath, Prince of Madness."

* * *

Martin almost jumped out of his chair when he heard a loud _**thump **_on the table he was reading on. He looked up, just to see Simhaud's surprised face. Once again, he hadn't heard (nor saw) him coming.

"Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

The imperial shook his head.

"No, you don't need to apologize. I was too absorbed in this book to notice you. Anyway…the Amulet?"

The grimace that creeped up on the Nord's face told him everything he had to know…and yet…what was the object the other had (rather clumsily) put on the table, wrapped in a sack, radiating Daedric magic even through the sealing runes drew on the cloth around it?

"The mastermind of this…the mortal one, I mean…got away under my nose, and the Amulet with him. However, you should really take a look at this."

Simhaud pushed the object towards him, and then made a step backwards.

"How did you make those runes?" Martin asked, grabbing the hard cover of a book inside the sack.

"Oh, a priest I saved from those cultists…and from a falling statue…helped me. Damn statue, I almost got myself killed."

Martin was about to ask more, when he recognized the object he had in his hands.  
_  
"__**By the Nine!**_"

He almost threw the book away in shock, but he managed to stop himself in time. That was…_the Mysterium Xarxes! _Thank the Gods Simhaud had had the good idea to ward it, or who knew what would have happened to him!

_"_Forgive me. You were right to bring it. But you'd better give it to me. I know some ways to protect myself from its evil power."

The Nord nodded, almost absent-mindedly.

"Well, can we use it to track this Camoran? He disappeared into a portal into some kind of 'Paradise'. Probably just some Daedric plane, but that's how they called it."

Martin bit his lower lips, thinking for some moments.

"I don't know. Maybe this is indeed the key to this Paradise you speak of. But I will need time. Tampering with dark secrets, even just reading them, can be very dangerous. I'll have to proceed carefully…"

Painful memories surfaced in his mind, but he was quick to put them away. It was not the time.

"So…what did I exactly brought to you?"

For a second, Simhaud seemed as if he was waiting for an answer he already knew…

"I mean, other than a Daedric book."

Oh. Right. Martin smiled, even if it was a nervous one. Of course the other didn't knew, he was just being paranoid as usual.

"It's called 'Mysterium Xarxes'. It's said that this evil book was written by Mehrunes Dagon himself, and given by him to Mankar Camoran. I believe he used it to create his Paradise…and to access it, if I'm correct. I will study it, and see what I can discover."

"You seem to know a lot about Daedric magic."

Simhaud definitely sounded like he had wanted to say that for a long time. Martin sighed: there was no way to avoid the matter, was it?

"I have…studied the dark arts, yes, when I was younger. I put them aside when I became a priest. But the workings of fate may be seen in this, too. 'The gods can turn anything to good', or so I piously told those who came to see me for advice. Perhaps I may yet come to believe it myself."

An uneasy silence fell on them, before Martin cleared his throat.

"You should speak to Jauffre. He was concerned about reports of spies in Bruma."

Simhaud nodded, apparently not disturbed by his obvious attempt to change subject.

"Right. Good luck with that thing."

He was beginning to move towards the door, when he stopped.

"Oh, and if you want to talk about it…the 'I studied Daedric magic' part, I mean…You just have to ask. I won't judge, I promise."

Martin looked at him for some seconds, trying to decipher the other's expression. He really didn't seem bothered by what he had just said…Which was worrying in some way, honestly. Had he stumbled upon another Daedric worshipper?

"Thanks. I'll think about it." he said, in the end. Simhaud nodded, before walking away towards the back of the room. He looked at him for some seconds, before sighing and going back with the eyes to the book in front of him. He really needed to start working on it: every seconds the Dragonfires were off, it was a second that Dagon had to prepare to invade Tamriel.

* * *

_Thanks again for your support, everyone! Once again, feel free to leave a comment, feedback is very appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 6

_Once again, thanks for the support, and an especially big "thank you" to all who left a comment!  
Hellfire: While it's not really apparent here (him being pretty much OP in the non-flashback parts of the story), Simhaud is more capable as an archer than as a swordsman, so he tends to go with the "shoot first, hope you hit something vital and then only if your opponent is still alive switch to close combat" tactic. In fact, all the times he_ _engaged someone in sword to sword combat it was because either it was too late to start shooting (the Mythic Dawn assassins) or he hadn't any other choice (the Dremoras in the Kvatch Gate, Raven Camoran, Jyggalag...). Speaking about Jyggalag, he's obscenely powerful, but he's a really predictable opponent. With Sheogorath's power and "thinking out of the box" attitude, victory was assured regardless of Simhaud's ability with swords.  
__Guest (meh, I really hope I could address you in some other way...): I believe this chapter will answer a part of your question ; D  
So...__Thank you for reading this, and feel free to leave a comment!_

* * *

"Well, at least he's noting but efficient."

'Efficient' was definitely the right word. Simhaud had received the mission to investigate about spies' activity in Bruma two days before and now he had returned, the spies killed and solid evidence that connected them to the Mythic Dawn. Still, Baurus couldn't help but to feel uneasy about that rapidity.

"I know, sir, but…"

He tried to find the right words, but Jauffre nodded before he could finish.

"You fear he has some connection with the underworld, and that he used those to complete his task faster."

He had understood perfectly. Baurus nodded, and the Grand Master sighed.

"I had my suspicions, too, even before this, so I had someone investigate about him…starting with the motive he had to be in that prison cell."

Of course he had. After all, the Blades hadn't managed to protect the Emperor for so long (well, except that whole Tharn business) by being sloppy. Jauffre closed the book he was reading before Baurus came and announced him the good news, before looking again towards the Redguard.

"Sadly, for now, we've found nothing. No one seems to know...which isn't that odd, if we're talking about petty crimes or something along that line. Those guards probably arrest at least ten people on a daily basis."

It did made sense, but something in the tone of his superior meant there was more he was going to say.

"I sense a 'but' in that last statement, sir."

"Indeed. The thing is…no one seems to know him. The closest thing we had was an Argonian who knew a Nord matching the description, but he also said that this friend of him died five years ago."

…Which meant 'we've found nothing'. Simhaud was not a reanimated corpse…and definitely not a reanimated five-years-old corpse.

"If I may, sir, his background seems to be a little shady, but at least he's surely alive."

Jauffre nodded, a little smile forming on his lips for a moment before disappearing again.

"Without doubt." he added, in the end. "I wish we had the resources to extend the search to Skyrim with the same rapidity…but sadly that will take time, no matter what."

Of course, the simplest explanation about why no one seemed to know him was that he didn't live in Cyrodiil…sure, Baurus remembered him saying that he knew his way around the Imperial Province, but he could have acquired that knowledge even as an occasional visitor.

"In any case, he doesn't seem to be associated with the Mythic Dawn. Right now, we can't afford to be picky about who helps us: he's capable and willing to help the Emperor, and that's what it counts. If he turns out to be one of the Thieves Guild or, Gods help us, one of the Dark Brotherhood, well…we'll deal with him when this will be all over."

The Dark Brotherhood…now that he thought about it, an assassin raised into one of their sanctuaries wouldn't have many contact with the outside (except for assassinations, of course), and display many of the abilities the Nord had shown to possess, like stealth and archery. However, that raised the question about what he was doing in a cell, probably for a petty crime. He shook his head: thinking about it was useless and it wasn't his task, to boot. Still, the possibility of having an assassin nearby wasn't really reassuring…

* * *

Dammit.

Simhaud scoffed, trying to remove a stubborn stain of blood from the Ebony Blade, courtesy of Mephala. He had stopped to her shrine on the way back from the Mythic Dawn sanctuary (where he had been rewarded with the artifact and some info about the cultists), but he hadn't had an occasion to use the sword until that day. The Blade was a fierce weapon, sure, but had definitely too much of a liking for blood…really, a normal sword would have been cleaned by now, and this would too if it hadn't been clinging to that stain like its edge depended on it. Ah, to Oblivion with it, he thought, definitely annoyed, while putting away the artifact in its sheath. He knew that his irritation was only partially due to his new sword, but he was reluctant to think about it again.

His mission had been, even if not a disaster, much slower than it should have been, even with Mephala's advices. If only he had had his old mortal self's contacts with the Thieves Guild…okay, Ongar the World-Weary wasn't exactly the most observant fence out there, but it beat having nothing. And, if he had to be completely honest, Ongar was not only not an option, but an additional problem as well…damn, using his old self's image hadn't been a bright choice, honestly. He really wasn't keen on the idea of his old fellows to know that he was, somehow, still alive and kicking...Okay, fine, Simhaud was no more, but they definitely couldn't have deducted that. Anyway, he had been extra careful: the most anyone would have got of him was a glimpse, nothing more, but that had also required additional time to complete the mission. Oh, well: at least, he was pretty sure that the Blades, on their own, would have done that in much more time than two days.

He sighed, before getting up from the bed he was sitting on and going towards the main hall of the fortress. The sight of Martin, surrounded by a heap of books, was definitely a strange one, but he supposed he would get used to it. He smiled for a second, before walking towards the Septim and clearing his throat, after a few seconds he had arrived in front of the table. Martin jumped (again) in his seat, before settling on a nervous smile.

"Oh. Good day, Simhaud. It seems that I'm not able to hear you coming…"

He briefly shook his head, before lifting his eyes on the Nord in front of him, a timid but victorious smile forming on his lips.

"I've made some progress with the Mysterium Xarxes, finally! Apparently, the book is both the gate and the key to Camoran's Paradise. In some sense, the book IS Camoran's Paradise. Mankar Camoran bound himself to the Xarxes when he created his Paradise, using dark rituals which I will not speak of further. A gate can be opened from the outside, however. It will be more difficult, as I will have to temporarily bind myself to the book. But I believe it can be done."

A small pause.

"In fact, I've already deciphered part of the ritual needed to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise. "

Simhaud grinned, pleased by that revelation, but didn't say anything, waiting for Martin to speak more.

"The Xarxes mentions four items needed for the ritual, but so far I have only deciphered one of them: the 'blood of a Daedra Lord'."

The smile from Simhaud's face faded almost immediately. He had not expected that, and he definitely didn't like that request. He could have easily provided a cup of blood (damn, he could even have used his own), but how he was going to explain that to everyone? Somehow he doubted that 'this Daedric Prince was feeling generous and gave me some of his blood' would have convinced someone.

"Yes, I know this sounds crazy, but I've found a workaround. In fact, Daedric artifacts are known to be formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord, from whence they derive their great power. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously, but we will need one to destroy for the Ritual."

It was then that the Septim's gaze shifted on his sword…damn.

"In fact, it seems that you already have one."

If Martin thought that he was giving away the Ebony Blade, then he was going to be bitterly disappointed.

"No, wait. I can't give up the Blade…it's too useful, especially with those Gates opening everywhere."

He hadn't encountered another one of those portals, true, but rumors were travelling anyway.

"Well, unless you can gain another artifact I don't see another way."

Oooh, foolish mortal. He could obtain every Daedric artifact he wanted, and all he had to do was ask.

"Besides…may I ask how did you obtain something so dangerous as Mephala's Ebony Blade?"

Ouch.

"The shrine was on my way when I returned from the Mythic Dawn's sanctuary."

He wondered why Martin hadn't noticed the sword before…probably because it had been the blood of the spies that had awakened the artifact, and that blood had been spilled only a few hours before.

"That's not what I asked and you know it."

He sighed.

"I don't worship Mephala, if that's what you're asking. Nor Mephala, nor any other Prince." he said, crossing his arms. Worshipping himself or one of his colleagues would be definitely awkward. Even in his mortal life he had always been reluctant to worship full stop, be it Aedra or Daedra.

"That's not the point. What did you do for Mephala to judge you worthy?"

"I asked nicely."

His answer, even if was the truth, was enough to enrage the Imperial.

"_Simhaud_!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think something to escape that situation.

"Look, I didn't kill anyone. I simply gave away some dirty secrets I knew, and Mephala seemed happy enough."

It was a lie, but was credible enough. Martin didn't seem to be calmed by that phrase, though.

"_**Of course she was! **_She gained a terrifyingly capable soul to do her bidding without giving away almost nothing! This may seem a good deal to you, but **it's **_**not**__._"

A few Blades looked towards them, but didn't intervene. Good, he was already in trouble even as he was.

"Are you worried about my soul? _Really_? Oh, come on, just an artifact isn't enough for her to claim anyone."

He realized too late that he was showing too much competence than he should have…_shit_.

"…Or at least, I hope. Look, we need an edge in this war: in the Gate I closed I got lucky because they didn't think a mortal could be capable to enter and stop them, but that won't happen again. Do you know what would happen if I were to face an opponent with full Daedric armour? There's no way I could harm him without this Blade."

He really hoped he had covered his earlier slip. Martin sighed, rubbing his right temple with one hand.

"I know…I just wished you didn't get involved with Mephala. I mean, there's not such a thing as a good Daedric Prince, but still..."

Simhaud nodded, definitely amused by the whole situation, now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Don't worry, I plan to pledge myself to every Prince available except Dagon, so they will spend the next eternity arguing about who gets to keep me."

Martin looked at him, a hard expression on his face.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

He paused, a sigh leaving his lips.

"Please, trust me. I'm not a power-hungry fool that wants to play the Daedra and expects to get away with it. I know the risks, but I also know there's no other option."

Now he was definitely lying through his teeth, but he was saying what Martin wanted to hear, which made the mortal immediately relax.

"…Then you're wiser than I was. I just hope this doesn't end in tragedy."

"…You really had it bad, uh?"

Silence.

"Sorry. I will bring another artifact, I promise."

Martin shook his head.

"No, you don't have to apologize."

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, before Martin spoke again.

"Is your offer…still valid?"

Offer? Oh, of course. He had offered to hear his story, how he had become (briefly, apparently) a Daedric worshipper.

"Obviously." he said, smiling.

"Thank you. I think I still need some more time before I do, but I think talking about it with someone I trust could help."

He…trusted him? Oh, boy, that was more than he had expected. The day had started bad and had progressed worse, but apparently the wheel had started to turn.

"…And I think I'm close to deciphering more of the ritual. I hope to have made some progress by the time you return with a Daedric artifact."

He nodded, briefly.

"Then I'll see you when I have one. Just…try to get some sleep. Your brain will turn into a mush and fall down from your ears if you keep studying night and day like the Blades told me you did."

Martin made a confused expression...Whops, he definitely had slipped too much Sheogorath in that phrase.

"Uhm…thank you for the advice?"

Simhaud made a low laugh, waving goodbye. He exited into the courtyard, the cold wind of the Jerall Mountains ruffling his white, messy hair. He inspired deeply, thinking about his next move.

"Simhaud!"

Thinking was postponed, apparently. He turned his head to his left, looking at Baurus that was coming towards him.

"Baurus. Something going on?"

The Redguard Blade stopped some steps away from him, pointing the door he had apparently just got out from.

"Yes. Grandmaster Jauffre wanted to speak with you. I suppose he has a mission he needs done, but it's just me guessing."

"Good, I was just asking myself what to do."

He was about to say goodbye, when he noticed a faint trace of nervousness emanating from the Blade.

"Uhm…Baurus? Is something wrong?"

He almost jumped, but repressed the motion at the last second.

"Oh, it's nothing. To think that those spies were so near to us…" he said, shrugging.

Liar. He was a master of paranoia, and the one the Redguard was feeling right now was definitely directed at him.

"I understand. I'll go see Jauffre now. Goodbye."

He moved, a frown forming on his face when he was sure no one was seeing him. Great, he had gained the trust of the Emperor and the suspicion of the Blades (maybe just Baurus, maybe everyone), for some reason he didn't know yet but could reasonably figure out once he had decided to put some thought into it. He really hoped he could avoid worsening his position, or his mission was seriously endangered.

* * *

He hid his face into the palms of his hands, trying to not think about anything else other than the sensation of cold emanating from his fingers. No, he couldn't. He closed his eyes, laying his head on the wall behind him. After the fight with Jyggalag, Haskill had had the good sense of pushing him inside with some kind of excuse he didn't bother to hear, effectively shielding him by the cheering crowd of Mazken and Aureals outside. Mercifully the throne room was empty instead, or he seriously doubted he could have managed to keep this calm…and right now he wasn't calm _at all_.

"My Lord?"

He snapped his eyes open, directing them towards the chamberlain. He looked at him for some moments, before sighing and closing his eyes again.

"You must think I'm rather pathetic, don't you?"

"Pathetic? I would never dare to think such a thing."

Damn you, Haskill. He was being so deadpan (more so than usual) Simhaud didn't even know whether he was being sarcastic or genuine. Not that he cared much, right now.

"You are no longer a mortal, My Lord. You must have thought that too, in your duel with Jyggalag."

He sighed. Always straight to the point, uh? Well, he couldn't say he didn't appreciate that trait, honestly.

"Maybe. I'm not sure what I thought during that duel…mainly that I needed to defeat Jyggalag, so Sheogorath could came back."

Simhaud shook his head, the enormity of what was expected of him threatening to crush him.

"Damn. I had things back on Tamriel…a guild to run, a woman I had projects with, some good friends..."

He was rambling, he noticed. He inspired, trying to regain his composure. The results weren't exactly what he had hoped for, but better than nothing.

"I didn't even want to lead the Thieves Guild, I hate being the one giving orders… and now I'm supposed to be a Prince. I know I said I would do everything for the Isles, and I meant it…but really, how can I be a Daedric Lord? How can anyone _start _being a Daedric Lord?!" he said, in the end.

Haskill, as usual, didn't show any trace of emotion. If he was considering Simhaud a pathetic whiner (which was very probable, by the way) his expression didn't betray that.

"I see. May I offer you my opinion?"

Simhaud looked at him, then nodded.

"Are you familiar with the concept of mantling, My Lord?"

"No."

"I thought so. I could go on and on about it, but, for sake of brevity I will limit myself. 'Walk like them until they must walk like you'…it may seem like nonsense, but if you became so similar to someone no one can distinguish the two, even the universe ceases to consider these two identities distinct."

That sounded like a monumental pile of bullshit, honestly.

"So…are you saying that I must mimic Sheogorath, and that eventually I'll become him?"

A little smile appeared on Haskill's lips.

"My Lord, if that was so simple then every mortal would try to mantle a God."

The smile faded, while the Breton's face returned to its normal, deadpan expression.

"Mantling it's not something so superficial: you must act like Sheogorath, yes, but also _think_ like Sheogorath…you must _be _Sheogorath, in every aspect. The fact that Sheogorath willingly passed his Mantle and authority to you probably simplifies the entire process."

Simhaud was about to ask more, when he remembered something.

"You said…_Think_ like Sheogorath? I remember that…during the duel…I had one side of me cheering at every blow and the other one pointing out all the possible moves Jyggalag could have made. It was…" he stopped, trying to find the right words. "Mania and Dementia."

The chamberlain nodded almost absent-mindedly.

"As I said before, the fight must have prompted you to merge with your Mantle. It's a start, and it means that you can indeed become the new Lord of the Isles, given enough time."

Silence. Even if he could really become Sheogorath, that left other matters still open.

"But what about the people I left in Tamriel?"

Haskill sighed, before answering again.

"My Lord, my advice would be to simply forget about them. Mortals disappear all the time, after all, they will cry for some time and then move on, and they won't suspect a thing. But…I suppose saying farewell to them would probably put your mind at ease. As I said, I don't recommend spend more time in Tamriel, but it's your decision, Lord Sheogorath, and I will support it, whatever that choice may be."

It was hard, saying farewell, but he had to admit it was probably for the best. He needed to become Sheogorath, and leaving Simhaud behind was definitely the fastest way to do it, at least at the beginning. Still, disappearing without further notice…no, he was not going to do that.

"You're right. I will…visit them one last time, make up some kind of lie and then disappear. Besides, I would be a terrible leader if I left the Guild without a Grey Fox…an officially appointed one, I mean."

Haskill nodded.

"Very well. However, I recommend doing something about your eyes before going back, My Lord."

His eyes? What in Oblivion was wrong with his eyes?

"Oh. Here, Lord Sheogorath."

The chamberlain had noticed his surprise, and he had reached for something in his suit, before offering it to Simhaud. A little round mirror, he realized. He took it, not without some kind of hesitation, before putting it in front of his face. While his features were absolutely the same, he couldn't help but wince. His sclerae were pitch black, and the iris had abandoned its previous pale grayish-blue colour, assuming an intense azure pigment. He could have sworn that the irises were radiating a dim light, but that could simply be the contrast between the bright disk and the darkness of both the sclerae and the pupils. He had already seen those kind of eyes before, on the Dark Seducers, but to see them on his face…

"What…when…"

"When you bathed the Staff into the Font of Madness, My Lord. If you're wondering about the colour, it's because you are more attuned to your Dementia side, unlike the old Sheogorath, who preferred Mania."

Simhaud muttered a distracted 'ah', still looking at his eyes on the mirror. Haskill sighed.

"I can show you a spell to alter your image, My Lord. It's not difficult."

That phrase seemed to get Simhaud's attention, who lifted his eyes from the mirror.

"Oh. Thank you, Haskill."

He gave back the little trinket to the Breton, before getting up. He had had enough time to despair: now he had to act, because the road in front of him looked like a definitely long and arduous one. Even if he could have sworn that the enormity of his new role was about to crush him, at least he had Haskill to support him, hadn't he? He tried to form a little smile, with not-so-much success.

"So…I guess I should hurry and end my mortal life, uh?"


	8. Chapter 7

"Simhaud! You're back, finally! It's been weeks since you left."

Armand flashed a big smile towards him, which only helped to sink his mood lower. Trying not to think about what he was there to do, he smiled back.

"Hello, Armand. Nice to see you, too."

The Redguard shook his head, happiness still on his face.

"We were starting to think that you had disappeared like the others, too. Glad it's not the case."

Simhaud just shrugged. Don't think about it, don't think about it…

"Oh, by the way. Here, this is rightfully yours, I believe."

Damn. Armand started to rummage in his bag, before extracting something made of gray leather. He handed him the Cowl of the Gray Fox, and Simhaud had no choice but to accept. For the moment, at least.

"And here I was, fearing that you would try to steal it for yourself and kill me had I returned back."

Fun fact: he had actually hoped that. It would have made everything definitely easier, and would have spared him the need to make up some lies to cover the truth.

"Hey, I might be a thief, but I'm not a backstabber." Armand shrugged, his face returning to a more neutral expression. "So…what happened? Did you discover why those thieves disappeared first and returned insane later?"

It had just began. Simhaud inspired, then spoke again, lowering his voice.

"About that…we need to talk."

Armand expression immediately soured. He lowered his voice in return, looking around to see if anyone was listening. No, they were alone in that part of the Waterfront.

"I don't really like that tone. Are we in danger?"

Simhaud shook his head.

"No, don't worry. The Guild is safe."

"I…see. Can you go an greet everyone? While it could help reassure the others, if you don't have time for that, I'll…"

Well, thank the gods Armand was pretty receptive…Or not. Maybe it would have been better if he had been denser than granite, in that situation.

"No, I have all the time I need. Let's go to the base. We will meet later at the usual spot."

* * *

Namira laughed softly, the vivid image still dancing in her mind after Sheogorath's colourful description.

"Those mortals never cease to amuse me!"

Sheogorath scoffed, his expression halfway between irritation and hilarity.

"Oh, sure, Namira. It amuses you because you weren't the one that had to do it."

He paused, before high-pitching the tone of his mental words.

"Oh, I'd really like to send you those reinforcements for Bruma, to defend the only person that stands between us and Dagon, but you see, we have a tiny Gate in front of our city and we're too useless to do anything about it! Oh, please, valiant hero, close it and we'll send the troops, never mind the fact that that Gate is probably going to re-open the second you leave the city!"

Namira couldn't help but chuckle again. Luckily, Sheogorath didn't take offence: in fact, she suspected he had launched himself in that imitation of Chorrol's countess just to make her laugh, if his brief smile was a clue. However, it didn't last long: the Prince sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm definitely going to crawl into those Gates until this ends, am I not?"

His tone was now one of flat resignation, with a lingering aftertaste of frustration.

"…I'm afraid yes, Lord Sheogorath." she said in the end, with a shrug and the hint of a sigh of her own.

Sheogorath scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked so…human, right now, Namira realized. No wonder he had been so successful in keeping his true nature a secret so far, he looked like he was born that…Oh. She bit her lower lip, almost wanting to hit herself for that slip. Luckily Sheogorath wasn't hearing her inner thoughts…

"I suppose I deserve it…I was the one who lost the Amulet, after all."

The tone was now one of pure resignation. Feeling guilty for her earlier thoughts, she answered immediately, with the warmest tone she could use at the moment.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You've done a lot, even with your avatar's mortal limitations."

Sheogorath's expression suddenly hardened, a brief mask of fury darkening his expression.

"Dagon is going to _pay_ for this."

Namira couldn't help but wince. She had never seen Sheogorath so…menacing. He usually was a moody creature, yes, but he was fond of soft tones and laughter, even when he was threatening to rip someone's spine from their back. To see poisoned, barbed steel emerging from under that façade…well, it was not a pretty sight even for the Mistress of Decay. She thanked that she had never crossed the other Prince's path, because finding that fury directed at her…

"…Anyway, have you got something for me?"

She almost jumped again at Sheogorath's voice. She noticed that his tone was polite again…good grief, he sure was quick to change! Not that she could really complain about that particular variation, though.

"Oh! Yes, now that I recall. Nocturnal was here not too long ago, and she left this for you."

She snapped her fingers, making a black, elegant bow appear in the hands of Sheogorath. Well, the bow wasn't _originally_ black, but she really thought that it looked better that way, it's surface now similar to Ebony.

"The Bow of Shadows. Not only a fairly powerful weapon, but it's enchanted to grant you both speed and some precious seconds of invisibility. Or, at least, that's what Nocturnal said."

Sheogorath looked at the artifact for a few seconds, studying it, before grinning.

"Colour me impressed."

"She said that you would need a better bow soon, but, sadly, her shrine was too distant for you to reach right now."

Now, Nocturnal's fascination with the Madgod was hardly a secret for anyone smart enough, but this move was uncharacteristically blunt. Perhaps it had been urgency that had made the Mistress of Shadows so open.

"My, how thoughtful." he said, a little amused smile lingering on his lips for some seconds. She was not sure whether he was ridiculing Nocturnal's attentions or simply acknowledging them, but honestly she didn't care much.

"…And for me…"

She was about to introduce her ring, when Sheogorath raised an hand.

"I dread to sound rude, but that would be a definitely bad idea."

She stopped right in her tracks, surprise overcoming her.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You giving me an artifact is not that surprising…but two? Even Dagon would get suspicious. Of course, he could simply be not watching, but I'd rather not taking any unnecessary risk." he explained with a polite tone and a serious expression.

Of course. She nodded, before sighing.

"…Oh. You're right. Well, that's pretty unfortunate! I wanted to help you on your quest to find some disposable artifact for that Septim, since my Ring is pretty useless to you…"

After all, her Ring was effective if you were hit a lot, a strategy that Sheogorath was going to avoid in favour of striking from the shadows, unseen and untouched. He chuckled lightly, before shaking his head.

"I appreciate, my dear, but don't worry. I will find something I can safely give up. Now, I really need to return to Cloud Ruler Temple to restock, before going south again. Goodbye, Namira."

She nodded, before mind-speaking again.

"Very well, Lord Sheogorath. Until next time, then, and may your mission be successful."

* * *

The main hall of the Thieves Guild's headquarter was now filled: the news of the return of the most skilled agent of the Gray Fox (well, that was his official position. Only Armand Christophe and Count Umbranox knew the truth) had spread quickly, and every thief in the Imperial City not currently working had come to cheer and drink.

"Simhaud!"

The Bosmer woman's voice almost made him jump. He knew he would have to face her, sooner or later, but he had definitely hoped that the latter was the case. He smiled, trying to sound relaxed and happy to see her…only to fail spectacularly.

"Hi, Methredhel."

"Wow, how gloom we are today! Are you not happy to see me?"

He waved an hand in the air.

"Oh, no, not at all. I'm just tired, I had to travel for days without a true opportunity to rest."

Methredhel raised an eyebrow.

"You liar." she said in the end, with a slightly teasing tone. He found himself pulled along their little charade, faking an outraged tone.

"Hey, it's true!"

The Bosmer laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Sure, sure."

However, her expression immediately got serious. Simhaud definitely didn't like that.

"Can we talk a minute somewhere more…private?"

He forced himself to smile and nod, despite his internal turmoil.

"Of course. Follow me."

Simhaud led the woman up a staircase. He didn't have to search for long for the key of his quarters, and in no time the door was open. He stepped in, motioning Methredhel to do the same.

"So…what is it?" he said, closing the door.

"Well…You better have a seat."

Oh, great.

"Should I start to worry?"

The Bosmer shrugged.

"…Maybe?"

He frowned.

"Has something happened to you? Because you seem awfully calm for someone…"

"Simhaud, calm down! I'm fine! Can you let me finish?"

He sighed, before muttering something along the lines of "yeah, sure". Methredhel nodded, before inspiring deeply.

"I…We…We will have a child. I'm pregnant."

He had expected to hear something like that, but to actually _listen_ those words…it felt like the world had crumbled under his feet, the walls coming down to crash on him. He was there to _cut _his ties with his mortal life, not to discover new ropes tying him down to it.

"It's…oh! Oh! It's…great."

Methredhel sighed, before going to sit in a nearby chair.

"Wow, don't be so enthusiast."

Simhaud rubbed his head, his mind working frantically in the vain effort to find something smart to say.

"Sorry, it's not that I'm not happy, it's just…so sudden."

The woman nodded, a little smile forming on her lips.

"I know. And don't worry, I won't force you to marry me or something."

He raised his hands in the air.

"Oh, great! Now my worries are gone." he said, his sarcasm clearly showing.

"Ah-ah."

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to not getting crushed by the guilt that was now busy devouring him. He couldn't stay. Yes, he knew that, but…that didn't mean that he would try his best to help her. He moved towards her, taking her hands into his and kissing her on the forehead.

"Don't worry, I will do whatever I can for you."

She looked at him for some seconds, trying to decipher his expression. Before she could, however, he stepped back, going towards the door.

"Sorry, I have to go now. I'll see you later, okay?"

The Bosmer blinked for a moment, confused, before giving him a tentative nod.

"Good. Bye, Methredhel." he said with a little smile, before exiting from the room in a fluid motion.

* * *

"Oh, here you are. I was beginning to wonder when you would show up."

Clavicus Vile was in a foul mood, that day, Simhaud quickly realized. Well, more foul than usual, that is. Really, the Daedric lords were a bunch of sourpusses! Thankfully he and Sanguine usually lifted the collective mood…

"Well, I was in the area, and I thought it would be nice to visit you." he joked.

"Please, Sheogorath, I don't have time for your humor today."

"…Has something happened?"

Vile snarled. Man, for a Daedra that looked like a child he sure was bitter!

"Isn't that obvious? But it's nothing that concerns you, so let's just get to the point, shall we?"

Simhaud scoffed.

"Fine, fine, don't be such a curmudgeon!"

"…Tell me you didn't just say that because you wanted to say the word 'curmudgeon'."

"…Was that so evident?"

He could almost hear the sound of Clavicus Vile's hand hitting his forehead. However, it was another voice that answered.

"Please, Lord Sheogorath, just say what do you need. Currently Vile is pretty busy, and I'd rather not have him any more upset."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile spreading on his face.

"Oh, hello Barbas. Fancy see you here…"

He was about to say more, when he remembered the Daedra's words.

"Oh, right. Let's get to the point…Vile, I need your Masque."

There was an instant of silence, before the voice of the other Daedra boomed in his mind.

"**YOU WHAT? **You don't even _need_ my Masque!"

"Hey, that's untrue! I really need it!"

"Oh, really? For what? You have already charmed your way in more places I care to count! How does the enchantment on the Masque help you?"

Simhaud shifted his weight from one foot to another. Telling the other Prince what he needed the artifact for was definitely going to anger him even more, and right now he lacked the time or the mood to reason with an angry Daedric Lord.

"I just need it, okay?"

"Oh. Oooooh. Now I remember…you want to give it to that Septim mortal, right?"

Clavicus' voice had become dangerously sweet: definitely not a good sign.

"Well…"

"Well, **USE YOUR OWN ARTIFACTS THEN!** I have other uses for the Masque right now, and I'm not going to give it up for who knows how long!"

Simhaud had to stop himself from growling.

"Are you weaseling out from your deal, Clavicus Vile?"

The other Daedra definitely felt the danger in his tone, but didn't budge from his position.

"Oh, come on, you already have two artifacts on you!"

"**Dammit Vile**! I need them and you know it!"

"Well, and I need my mask! Go ask…"

He never finished his phrase.

"Lord Clavicus Vile, I find myself extremely dissatisfied with the fact that my words have already been forgotten. When I said 'and we shall all assist Lord Sheogorath' I meant _all_ of us."

The words dripped in Simhaud mind, leaving an oily aftertaste after them. He nodded, asking himself how exactly had the Prince of Fate managed to enter that conversation.

"Hermaeus Mora, how nice to see you here. Mind helping me?"

"That's my intention, Lord Sheogorath. Clavicus Vile, I'd like to remind you that losing Umbra is entirely your fault and doesn't excuse you from your pact."

It took just some seconds for Simhaud to understand the whole situation, and even less for him to laugh.

"No, really? You want to bribe some foolish adventurer with your mask so they will try to get Umbra back? Oh, come on, every adventurer worth of their name would just keep the sword…assuming that they can take it in the first place."

Umbra had always been a sore spot for Vile, and probably the only thing that prevented the Prince of Bargains from lashing out against Simhaud was Mora's presence...damn him, he had his tentacles everywhere, but at least this time his intervention had been useful.

"Sure, go ahead and insult me, that's really going to help your cause! And this situation is your fault, anyway!"

"Lord Vile…Lord Sheogorath…please stop this senseless bickering."

He could almost feel the gaze of the eldritch Prince on him, begging to stop talking and making the situation worse, but couldn't help himself.

"You can't even prove that witch was me!"

This time, not even Mora's presence was enough to rein the other Prince.

"**THAT'S IT!** You want my Masque? I will exchange it with Umbra! You don't have Umbra? **FORGET ABOUT IT.**"

The Prince of Knowledge sighed deeply when the mental connection was suddenly severed, leaving him alone with Sheogorath.

"Here we are, unwilling witnesses of the last temper tantrum of the Prince of Wishes. I'm afraid reclaiming Umbra will be the only choice for you, if you want that Artifact. I would love to help you, but I'm afraid gifting you with the Oghma Infinium away from my shrine would only be helpful in arising suspicions."

Simhaud sighed.

"I know, I know. Since I don't have the time to search all Tamriel for that damn sword, I'll guess I'll…"

"Uhm, may I?"

The third voice startled him for a second.

"Mh? Oh, Barbas. Did Vile throw you out too?"

"Oh? No, not at all. I'm just…asking for your help."

Simhaud sighed. Again.

"I don't have the time to…"

"If I may, Lord Sheogorath. I was about to intervene before, but Barbas was swifter than me. Umbra…and the mortal that is carrying it…is located an hour from here."

Well, that was interesting. Barbas spoke again, a plea in his tone.

"Look, I know Vile's being an ass, but I'm asking you to help anyway. It's not too far, you get your Masque, Umbra is removed from this world so that Dagon can't put his hands on it and it looks like you're just an adventurer doing a task from a Daedric Lord, which should lessen Mehrunes's suspicions."

Silence.

"…and Lord Vile shall owe Lord Sheogorath a favor." added Mora in the end, with his best commanding voice (and a damn good one, to boot).

"…and Vile will owe him a favor, yes."

The Nord threw his hands in the air, realizing too late that he'd been cornered.

"Fine, fine! I will do it. I hope Vile has his Masque ready for the time I return."

"Good! I will go with you. It's probably the minimum I can do." added Barbas, joy in his voice.

"Very well. I will excuse myself then, now that the issue is solved. If you find yourself needing some help just call, Lord Sheogorath. Farewell."

With Mora's voice retreating from his head, Simhaud was left with the sensation of murky water in his mind, and a canine presence that was arguably worse. Once again, he found himself sighing: why things couldn't be simple, for once?"

* * *

"Okay, we're alone. Now, in what kind of idiocy have you gotten into this time?"

There was no joy in Armand's face, this time. He shook his head, trying to not look the Redguard's face.

"I really can't talk about it."

"Simhaud, this is bullshit! I deserve...no, better, Methredhel deserves to know!"

"Maybe I've told her."

The Redguard shot him an angry glare.

"...Fine, I didn't." he conceded in the end. "I _can't _talk about it, I told you. It's too dangerous."

Armand clearly wanted to shout at him, while punching him hard, but thankfully he restrained himself.

"It's the Dark Brotherhood, Simhaud? Or worse?"

The Nord shook his head, looking away. Armand's insistence was not making the whole situation easier.

"As I said before, I can't say. But I assure you, once I'm gone nobody is going after you. It's me they want."

This time Armand grabbed his arm, hard, forcing him to face him.

"Simhaud, stop speaking nonsense! Who are 'they'? Has this anything to do with your investigation?"

Simhaud looked into Armand's eyes, disgust building into him. He was going to lie, lie shamelessly to the few people he still cared for. He was doing this for their sake? Maybe, but he still felt filthy for that.

"It doesn't mind anymore. There's nothing you can do. _Nothing_. Get into this, and you will die too. Get the others into this, and they die too. Is this point clear enough, Armand?" he hissed, yanking his arm away from the Redguard's grip. The fact that his words had frozen him had probably helped, too.

"Sorry. I just don't want anyone else to suffer from my mistakes."

Armand laughed, probably emitting the saddest laugh he had ever heard.

"It's a little late for feeling guilty, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

They looked at each other for some seconds, unable to say anything. _You are doing this for their sake_, he had to remind himself.

"What about Methredhel, Simhaud?"

"You know?"

"Yes. She told me when she was sure of it."

Simhaud sighed.

"That's the hardest part. I'll admit, I wouldn't had been too keen on the idea of being a father in normal circumstances, but this…"

He shook his head, unable to finish. Instead, he took out something from his satchel. Armand jumped, recognizing immediately the Cowl.

"Well, this you know of. There's also this." he said, taking out a key and a folded piece of parchment from a pocket. "It's yours, but I ask that you use it also for Methredhel."

"Don't tell me that's the map to your legendary secret hoard."

He nodded.

"And the key to it. You would probably open it anyway, in the end, but that definitely simplifies the whole ordeal. And about the Cowl…I know you had reservations about accepting it…"

"Simhaud, I'm not a legendary thief capable of sneaking into the Imperial Palace and exit with his head still on the neck."

"Neither was my predecessor. And let's be honest, the Gray Fox doesn't need to be a legendary thief, but needs to be the one in charge of the whole Guild. Your talents are perfect for that…but, if you still don't feel up to it, just wait until you can find someone more suited. That Cowl is yours, now: if you get up some day wanting to throw it into the lake, please feel free to do that."

He handed the content of his hands to the Redguard, which begrudgingly accepted.

"You are an idiot, Simhaud."

"I know, and you are the best friend a man could wish for. I will miss you."

There were a few moments of awkward silence, before Simhaud cleared his throat.

"I guess I should go now. I won't ask you to forgive me, but…Please, look after Methredhel. She didn't deserve anything of this."

"I will. Farewell, Simhaud."

He nodded, before turning his back and exiting the Waterfront District, without looking back even once.

* * *

"Remind me why this is a good plan." Simhaud almost growled in his mind, after the arrow he had launched was neatly cut in two by the Bosmer now possessing Umbra…well, the Bosmer possessed by Umbra, actually.

"Well…If you were a normal adventurer I would suggest you to run away now and go tell Vile you couldn't recover Umbra, but you really need that sword …and you are far more capable than a simple mortal, anyway."

"You are not saying that because of that time I wanted to kill you for chewing my slippers, right?"

"…I did never…ah, damn it. No."

His seconds of invisibility were going to end soon, he realized, and when that would have happened…well, he would be in trouble, now that he had failed to land the first, decisive, blow from the shadows. Daaamn. He put down his bow, his right hand ready to unsheathe the Ebony Blade. Really, that whole mission was going to transform into a contest for bloodthirsty Daedric swords, and he wasn't that keen on being in the middle of it.

"Vile is going to owe me big time for this!" he mind-shouted, quickly extracting his weapon and charging towards his opponent.

* * *

The guards found his body the next morning not too far from the Market District, his throat slit. They simply presumed he was the latest victim of some thug, and quickly proceeded to remove the body, moving it into a chapel of Arkay to wait for someone to claim it. It wasn't long before the grim news arrived into the Waterfront District, and even less before Methredhel discovered it. Saying that she was desperate was a massive understatement. Armand assured her that the Gray Fox would have started to investigate immediately, but in the end even the mysterious head of the Guild failed in discovering more about Simhaud's death. A letter coming from Windhelm saying that a certain Harrald Snowhill was distraught about his brother's death, but could not leave Skyrim to pay his respect to the departed was the only thing they received from the Nord's family, a month later.

Six months later Methredhel gave birth to three children, two Nords, a boy and a girl, and a Bosmer girl. The whole Guild in the Imperial City vowed to help her, especially Armand Christophe. In fact, when the Gray Fox himself announced his intention to support to the young Bosmer mother, many suspected it was because of the influence of his new second in command.

Raising three children basically alone wasn't an easy task, but Methredhel wasn't really the type that gave up easily. She had to keep going, no matter how the pain sometimes crushed her, or how many times she wished she had never let Simhaud go, that day when he had returned with a darkened face and who knew how many secrets. Just keep going. Do it for Armand, do it for Rorik, Frilgeth and Misandrael, do it for yourself. She thought everything was getting better, after five years. Still, that Nord she had seen in the Market had managed to open the old wounds. She sighed, shifting uncomfortably in her bed…maybe Armand was right, she needed some rest. Perhaps she could go for some time in her…well, Simhaud's…house in Bruma. She had always liked fresh air and the atmosphere of that town, and she could stay in touch with the Guild via Ongar. Yes, she definitely should have done that, she decided just before her weariness won its battle with her mind, finally making her fall asleep.

* * *

_And once again, thanks for the support! Feel free to leave a comment, as usual!_


	9. Chapter 8

"Aaaand…here you are! A new, shiny Daedric artifact, just for you to destroy."

Simhaud opened his satchel, retrieving a polished metal mask from inside it. Martin recognized the object almost immediately.

"Ah, the Masque of Clavicus Vile. You are wise not to let yourself get further enmeshed in his plots…considering that you entered them in the first place, to obtain this."

The Nord scoffed.

"I thought we already had this discussion…" he said, clearly annoyed by his comment.

"You are right, I'm sorry. It's just..."

"I know, I know. By the way…I visited Sanguine's shrine while I was travelling to Skingrad, to gather soldiers."

Here it came. Martin closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them almost immediately when all he could see past his closed eyelids was blood. There was no avoiding the topic, now…luckily he had already wanted to talk about it, or the situation would have become definitely awkward.

"What did he said?"

"Not much. He gave me this ring…" said Simhaud, lifting his left hand where a simple silver ring with an opal glimmered on his ring finger "…and said it was 'for old times' sake'. When I said I never dealt with him before, he just laughed and said that it wasn't me he was referring to."

Of course. His right hand twitched, almost feeling the sensation of the dagger, now sticky with blood, under it. No, it was a long time before.

"Obviously he couldn't help but gloat."

"So…it was him? Well, it could be worse…" Simhaud started to say, before noticing Martin's dark expression. "…I guess it wasn't just a few evenings full of alcohol and sex then, judging from your face."

He shook his head, closing the book he was reading before the Nord's arrival.

"No…no, it wasn't."

"If you don't want to…"

"No. I think it's time to talk about it. I don't think the guilt will ever leave me, but…"

Simhaud nodded.

"Come on, let's get some fresh air." he said, a little encouraging smile on his lips. Let's go to someplace we won't be heard, he meant. Martin nodded, before getting up from the table he had spent who-knows-how-many hours in the last few days.

The frigid wind of the north slapped him in the face the second he stepped out the warm room. He couldn't help but shiver…and to envy Nords' natural resistance to cold.

"I wasn't aware that 'fresh air' meant 'freezing wind', Simhaud."

"Ah! This would be a spring breeze, from where I come from." he laughed.

"Winterhold?"

"Windhelm, but you were pretty close."

Martin stopped walking for a moment, realizing something.

"That's the first thing you've ever told me about you."

"The second. The first was my name…And no, don't get your hopes too high. We're here to talk about you, not me."

He resumed walking, going towards the edge of the terrace they had come out in, facing the small wall where Simhaud had chosen to lean against.

"Don't want to talk about it?"

Simhaud shook his head.

"I've buried my past long time ago. You, on the other hand, haven't."

There was something…_ancient_…in the Nord's eyes. For a moment, he felt himself drowning in them.

"It's chaining you to the man you were, the man you desperately tried to leave behind but couldn't. You must face your past before you will be able to let it go, _burn it to the ground _if necessary, if you wish for a new man to be born. And, believe me, you _need _to be a new man. When this will be over you will be the Emperor. You can't afford to be 'Martin the one that got dragged into a Daedric cult' anymore."

He observed Simhaud's face, the strange energy animating his features fading away with his words. He couldn't help but shiver, but this time not for the cold.

"Sorry, got carried a little away. I just wish this didn't touch some old scars of mine. Oh, well, at least you've got an expert to help you." concluded the Nord, with a shrug.

"So, even if you buried it, it still hurts…whatever it is."

"Nah, I've gotten over it. It's just unpleasant to remember…and to see someone else in a similar situation."

A small silence. Martin couldn't help but wonder about this "mysterious past" of him. Perhaps it…

"And no, I was not part of the Dark Brotherhood."

Oh. But why he had…

"Because that's what the Blades have started to suspect. Not that I can blame them, my abilities wouldn't be too out of place for an assassin."

He waved his hand in the air. Martin couldn't help to realize that, until that moment, Simhaud had worn a mask. A very, very thick mask, and only now he had managed to get a glimpse of the man behind it. No, better, Simhaud had allowed him to see it.

"But we've already lost enough time speaking about me. If you want to talk, I suggest you to do it now."

Whatever opening he had left, it was closed now, the mask firmly in place. Martin inspired deeply. It was his turn to speak.

"I was really young, barely a man. I was an apprentice at the Mages Guild, and I…was eager to learn more about magic, fast. The restriction imposed to us only made me…and many others…wanting to break them, learn more forbidden magic, more secrets. I know that's why I studied Daedric magic, but…I don't really remember how everything else started."

He shrugged.

"Perhaps one of the people I studied with stumbled upon the shrine, and took us with him…but a thing I do remember was the euphoria. I couldn't wait for the night to fall, so I…could go to the Shrine. It was…the most exciting thing I had ever experienced."

He almost could remember the taste of the wine, the taste of the women and the men, his worries melting away, replaced with pure pleasure…

"You still miss it."

Simhaud's voice startled him. He could have sworn that the Nord's eyes were looking not at his face, but at his very soul.

"Sometimes, yes. And sometimes I wonder if my choice to become a priest isn't…simply me trying to escape from it."

Silence. Simhaud was waiting for him to start speaking again, he realized.

"This…went on for a while. Then, one night…"

He had to stop, his mouth uncomfortably dry.

"Bring it out, Martin. It's the only way to let go."

The Nord's voice was…soothing. It tugged at strings inside him he didn't even know he possessed…Somehow, that gave him the strength to go on.

"…One night, Sanguine himself appeared in the middle of us, a goblet of wine in his hand and the Rose in the other. He said he was going to choose the next owner of his artifact…Thinking again about it, I don't even know why I wanted it. I was probably too drunk to reason properly. 'Everyone that wants to compete has to drink from this cup first', he said. I still remember the taste of it, when I drank. It tasted like…blood, copper, and silk. No idea how I knew how silk tasted like, but I'm digressing. It got blurred after this…that chalice was probably filled with some kind of drug, but somehow…I can still remember it clearly. I killed everyone else with my magic and my dagger, and I was crowned champion. Then…"

No, he couldn't go on. He felt Simhaud's hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me."

He shook his head, then looked at the Nord.

"I thought I had to tell you everything."

Simhaud smiled, an amused spark in his eyes.

"No, not every detail. I can imagine the scene got...awkward."

"Indeed. Scared of the mental image?"

Martin found himself smiling, despite what he had just revived.

"Scared? I'm _terrified_! How I am supposed to look you straight in the face after knowing your…ahem. Nevermind, I just imagined the picture anyway."

He was surprised when he heard himself laugh. Simhaud looked at him, amused, for some seconds.

"I can't promise you that your guilt will ever leave you. In fact, it won't...you know why? You're a good man, that's why. You care about the others…and no, I don't think you care just because of your guilt. It's genuine. You can't change your past, but you can learn from it. Build on it something greater."

He stopped, looking towards the mountains, searching for who knew what.

"You can't forgive yourself of your 'sins'. Only someone else can. Well, I might not be the best person available, but it seems that you're stuck with me. And, believe me, you are free of 'sin' in my book. Not that I care much about sin…it's a silly concept, really."

Simhaud sighed, before starting to walk away.

"I'm going to rest. I'll leave you alone for now…goodbye, Martin."

"Hey, Simhaud."

He turned.

"Thank you."

He didn't answer. He simply nodded, before returning on his steps. No words were needed, after all.

* * *

The morning had come definitely too soon for his liking. He couldn't shake off the sensation that he had shown too much of himself…the _real _himself, in his conversation with Martin. Did he regret it? He wasn't sure about it, but he definitely wasn't looking forward to the consequences. He sighed, trying to delay the moment to get up from the bed the Blades had gave him.

"Hey, Simhaud! Martin wanted to speak with you urgently."  
_  
Thank you so much, Baurus. _He turned to face the Blade, trying to not make his current mood show on his face.

"Yeah, I'm going."

He got up, stretching his arms to relieve them from the night stiffness, while considering whether wear his armor or not. In the end, he decided against it, even if that could have gained some precious moments before the conversation in front of him.

There he was, sitting at his table surrounded by books. Once again, he had to clear his throat before Martin saw him…though, he had to admit, he wasn't sure anymore whether the Septim was doing that on purpose or not, like some kind of ritual between them. Nah, he was reading too much into it.

"Good morning, Simhaud! I have great news!"

He flashed a victorious smile towards him, before tapping with his index finger on the cover of the Xarxes.

"I've made some progress on deciphering the gate-opening ritual. I've figured out another item needed for us to open the portal to Camoran's Paradise."

Simhaud nodded.

"Well, I really hope this time isn't something as the blood of a God, because…"

Martin's smile faded from his face, replaced by a strange mixture of surprise and…guilt.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking!"

The Imperial shrugged, before continuing.

"Well, you were joking, but you were right: we will need the blood of a Divine."

Simhaud's jaw would have dropped to the floor, hadn't it be fixed to his head. Despite all his knowledge, he hadn't the slightest idea how to procure something like that. And, no, he wasn't going to ask the Aedra.

"This was a terrible puzzle to me. Unlike the Daedric Princes, the gods have no artifacts, and do not physically manifest themselves in our world. How then to obtain the blood of a god? But Jauffre solved it. The blood of Tiber Septim himself, who became one of the Divines."

Oooh, of course. Ol' Talos was a mortal before ascending…or more than one, he wasn't very much paying attention when that happened. Martin's voice dropped, as he said the next phrase as a little more than a whisper.

"This is a secret remembered only by the Blades, passed down from one Grandmaster to the next. Jauffre should tell it to you himself."

"…Tell me about what?"

"About the Armor of Tiber Septim. Come with me, we will speak in private."

The voice came from behind him, and he turned immediately, just to find himself face to face with the old Breton. He had been so absorbed by his conversation that he hadn't heard him getting near.

"Very well. Good luck with that book, Martin."

"And good luck to you, my friend. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

Thankfully, Jauffre's apparition had spared him the conversation he dreaded so much. He nodded towards Martin, before starting to follow the Grandmaster into his…office? Whatever. The old man sighed, once he had sat down at his desk.

"I wish there was another way. The Armor is in the Shrine of Tiber Septim, in the catacombs beneath the ruins of Sancre Tor. A holy place, once. But Sancre Tor became evil long ago. No one has returned from the Shrine of Tiber Septim for many lifetimes."

Aaaaand of course. His next mission was, once again, not a pleasant one.

"Evil, you say? What is exactly this 'evil' you speak of?"

Jauffre shook his head.

"I do not know. The catacombs of Sancre Tor were sealed by the first Grandmaster of the Blades. The four mightiest Blades of Tiber Septim's day went to Sancre Tor and never returned."

Just great. Thankfully, he was far more capable than a mortal warrior, or he would definitely be scared by now. The Grandmaster opened a drawer, taking out an old-looking key and a piece of map. He then proceed to hand it them to the Nord, who studied them for a few seconds.

"This is the key to Sancre Tor's outer door. I fear I am sending you to your death, but we have no other choice. You must succeed."

"As usual."

He nodded, and was about to excuse himself when Jauffre spoke again.

"Oh…and good work with those cities. The first soldiers have just arrived today in Bruma."

He paused, but Simhaud sensed he wanted to say more.

"I know I've already asked you a lot, but…"

"Please, ask anyway. If I can do it, I will."

The Blade nodded.

"I'm worried about Martin. He does nothing but pore over that evil book all day. I'm aware that it's necessary if we want a chance to get back the Amulet, but…"

He paused.

"He seems to trust you. If you can help him in any way…"

"I will try my best." Simhaud said, nodding. "Now, I must take my leave. I should be back in two, maybe three days…hopefully intact."

* * *

"Oh, come on…_**THIS IS STUPID!**_"

He barely parried a blow from the undead Blade…well, the skeletal remain of it…before jumping to the side to avoid a frost spell. The spirits of the Blades he had already freed had been incredibly unuseful, proceeding towards the chamber where the Armour and an impenetrable barrier resided without even asking him if he needed any help…and speaking about unuseful, so was the voice currently residing in his head.

"I'm afraid there's no other way, Lord Sheogorath. Unless you want me to intervene on that barrier…"

"Please, Mora, we both know that's the best way to gain the wrong kind of attention."

Being Sancre Tor so near to Mora's Shrine, he had thought paying a visit would be a good idea. Well, turns out he had lost the few hours he had needed to reach it.  
Fed up with that fight, Simhaud slashed with the Ebony Blade, finally managing to dislodge the arm…bone arm…of the skeleton. A second blow sent the skull flying somewhere in the distance, as the remaining body crumbled down.

"Finally!" he grumbled as a new spirit emerged from the pile of bones and walked towards him.

"_I was Casnar, loyal Blade of Emperor Tiber Septim. I do not know how long I have been dead…It feels like an eternity._"

Simhaud nodded.

"Your fellow Blades' spirits have already been freed. I believe they are in the Tomb of the Reman Emperors, now."  
_  
"__You have my gratitude, young warrior. I will then wait for you in the central chamber, so we can together end the curse on this once sacred ground._"  
_  
Finally_! He sighed, before sheathing his sword. On a second thought, better leave it unsheathed, he realized. He had just started to walk towards his destination, when Mora spoke again.

"Well, it does appear that you are about to retrieve the Armour after all."

Simhaud scoffed in response. He was about to add more, when a high-pitched, inhuman scream made him turn, almost instinctively. The Wraith didn't had enough time to do anything else, however, as the Ebony Blade pierced his spectral face.

"Damned things." he murmured, removing the sword as the spirit started to shrink, smoke exiting from its mouth. "Useful just for making me lose time. _More_ time."

The sword still in his hand, he pushed open the old doors of the Tomb of the Reman Emperors…and, once again, he was invested by the freezing air coming from the barrier. This time, however, the four spectral Blades were staying in front of it, in a silent wait. As soon as they saw him enter, they kneeled, unsheathed their swords and stuck them in the ground, one after another. Simhaud could clearly feel the power of the barrier been hacked away, layer after layer, and, in the end, fall down, unable to resist more. He couldn't help but smirk, before sheathing his own sword and proceeding towards the door now clearly visible at the end of the chamber.

"Once again, I take my leave. Until next time, Lord Sheogorath."

Simhaud nodded, feeling Mora's presence leaving his mind as he touched the door with his hand. Daedra really didn't like being in proximity of anything Aedric, really…even if was silly, it's not like they could be _damaged _by it.

The room, basically a cave, was almost empty, except for the altar in the middle of it, illuminated by two runestones, their dim light giving all the space around them an eerie aquamarine tint. And, inside the altar…he opened the lid of the container, grinning at the chestplate inside it. Bingo! Thankfully they had the good idea to put it into something, or by now dust and humidity would have irremediably corrupted it. He carefully lifted the Armour, before putting it in his bag, being careful enough to not damage any trace of blood the piece of metal had inside it.

Exiting from the chamber, he noticed the Blades, still standing in their kneeling position. Seeing him exit they nodded, before fading away. He nodded back, before proceeding towards the exit: he needed to deliver that as soon as possible, he couldn't have stayed there for long even if he had wanted to.

* * *

Once again, he was on his horse, climbing the steep road that lead to Cloud Ruler Temple. He had done that so much that he knew every detail of the last part of the route almost by heart. A few snowflakes had already started to fall, and the weather had no intention to turn better any soon. Well, in fact, there was probably a snowstorm incoming, judging by the sky. He had better hurry, if he wanted to arrive to his destination before the storm had the possibility to begin. He sighed, his hot breath immediately condensing in the cold air. He really was looking forward to sit down in front of a warm fire, maybe with something hot to eat, and perhaps rest until the storm had ceased, but couldn't help to think about the time he was going to waste doing that. Oh, well, he had his hands tied, his avatar needed the same things as other mortals did. He lightly spurred his horse, who eagerly complied, if nothing because it hoped Simhaud would dismount soon.

"Damn beasts." he muttered under his breath, as he finally saw the gates of the Blade's fortress.

"Simhaud incoming! Open the doors!"

He rode into the main court of Cloud Ruler Temple, before a Blade hurried to get a hold of the reins of his horse. Those animals' hate towards him had quickly become legendary, and after that little accident…ah, nevermind. He dismounted, before unloading the bag with the Armour from his horse. He walked with his bulky package in his arms, while one of the Blades guarding the door leading to the main hall hurried to open it, letting him inside. The warm room was a blessing after all those hours riding, and a little sigh of pleasure escaped his lips once he stepped inside. His eyes immediately fell on Martin, who was looking at him in return.

"I'm starting to feel a bit like an errand boy, your Highness." he said with a small smile once he was in front of the table. He put down the Armour, after Martin had hurried to make a space for it by moving some of the books that infested the table.

"Oh, I doubt that errand boys are sent into dangerous ruins." the Imperial answered, with a smile of his own. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Look for yourself. Just be careful, we don't want what little blood is left in there to be lost." he said, as Martin gently removed the chestplate from the bag. As soon as he did, a triumphant smile appeared on his face, alleviating a little of the weariness Simhaud could now clearly see on the man's face.

"The Septim blood may flow through my veins, but you have the soul of a hero…The Armor of Tiber Septim himself! Jauffre will be amazed to see it."

Simhaud couldn't help but smile at the genuine joy in Martin's voice…and he wanted the first phrase engraved in front of his throne in New Sheoth, it was pure gold.

"Oh, and you can reassure Jauffre that I will not destroy the armor. All I need is a scraping of Talos's divine blood. The Blades are as touchy as priests about relics of Tiber Septim, it seems!" he added, with a little laugh.

"Had you any problems retrieving this?" he asked, in the end, raising his eyes to look at the Nord.

"Well…Sancre Tor was swarming with the undead, but it didn't prove too difficult in the end. I'm more worried about Oblivion Gates. I had to close two when going from here to my destination…fortunately, the return trip was much more calm."

Martin's face immediately darkened, as he shook his head and sighed.

"Well, at least, while you were gone, I've made some progress in deciphering the Mysterium Xarxes ritual."

"This time I'm not saying anything, before you ask me to bring you the finger of Padomay."

Silence.

"Aw, crap. I've said that."

Martin chuckled, his serious expression softening a little.

"No, this time we're dealing with something completely different. The third item we need is a Great Welkynd Stone. You may have run across lesser Welkynd Stones; they are fairly common in Ayleid ruins."

Oh, no. He had always hated Ayelid ruins, so in his previous life he had tried to avoid them as much as he could. He still remembered with a bit of horror that time he had to cross the ruins below White Golden Tower…ugh. Still better than that Dwemer ruin he had once explored in Skyrim when he was younger, anyway. _That _was an experience he wouldn't had repeated for nothing in the world.

"But a Great Welkynd Stone will not be easy to come by. They have been plundered one by one over the years, due to their great value to mages and occultists. There is only one place that is rumored to still contain one: the ruins of the Ayleid city of Miscarcand. A place where many have perished seeking its Great Stone. But nothing else will do, so you must succeed where all others have failed."

He sighed.

"Of course. Ugh."

Martin frowned, looking at the Nord's face.

"I've never seen you this worried."

"Yeah, I have a special place in my heart for that kind of ruins…the one reserved for deep hate."

He shrugged.

"But don't worry: I'll manage. There's no way I'm stopping now, after how far we've come."

The Imperial smiled, looking at him with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"You are unbelievable, Simhaud. Most people would have run away as fast as they could after the first request I made…"

Now that the mood was pretty relaxed, Simhaud decided to make his move.

"And what about you? I see that my own request has been ignored."

Predictably, confusion appeared in the expression of the man in front of him.

"…Uhm…what request?"

Of course he didn't remember.

"You haven't slept for two days straight, admit it."

Now he _had _remembered.

"_Oh. _Wait…No! I had…a little nap yesterday."

Simhaud raised an eyebrow.

"…Fine, I didn't. But you saw it yourself, how bad it is out there…we need to decipher the Xarxes as fast as we can."

"Not this evening."

Before Martin could add anything Simhaud had already made the steps that had took him by the side of the Imperial, and had forced him to get up by pulling his arm. Thank himself the hall was currently empty, or he would have had a lot of swords pointed at him, while a lot of angry soldiers would have wanted him dead for trying to kidnap the Emperor.

"**Hey!**"

"I'm doing this for you, Martin. You'll thank me later."

He kept pulling, forcing Martin to walk after him.

"Where are we going?!"

"Well, if I wouldn't be worried about assassins…and the Blade's reaction…I would take you to the best inn in Bruma for an healthy night of mead and roasted boar. But, considering that and the fact that's going to snow soon, I'll have to improvise."

He made Martin sit on one of the benches in front of the fireplace.

"Stay there while I go and…oh, Baurus. Nice to see you. Mind to look after the Emperor for me? Don't let him return to those books, no matter what he says."

The Blade, that had just entered the room, looked at him with a strange expression.

"Uh…what?"

Simhaud laughed, as he went for the door leading outside.

"Don't worry, I'll bring something to eat for you too."

"Uh…_what_?"

Simhaud had already left.

* * *

"I still can't believe you managed to catch a deer in so little time." Martin said, nibbling at his last piece of meat, and Baurus did the same before answering.

"Yeah. But, after seeing what he can do with a bow…honestly, I'm not that surprised."

"Oh, I was lucky. The hard part was actually get the deer _inside_, after I hit it from the walls. No, wait, the hardest parts were convincing you to eat with us and Martin to take a sip of mead, scratch that." was Simhaud only answer, before he took a chug from a bottle he had nearby. Baurus looked a little shocked.

"…What? _From the walls_?"

"…The guards didn't want to let me out."

Martin looked at him for a moment, puzzled.

"And that changed when you shot from the walls because…"

"…they were too shocked to protest after I hit my mark."

Silence.

"…What?" said Simhaud, in the end.

"You really are something else, Simhaud." answered Baurus, a smile on his face. Then took his bottle to the lips, stopping just a second before drinking to grimace.

"By the way Simhaud…do you Nords really like this thing? I never thought that something made from honey could be so disgusting."

Simhaud just shrugged.

"Oh, no idea. I can't stand mead either, so that's why I'm drinking ale right now."

Baurus, who had just reluctantly took a sip, almost threw it out, while Martin had to stop himself from doing the same.

"**WHAT?!** The why you insisted we drank this?!" the Imperial exclaimed, a tone away from a shout.

"Oh, come on, didn't I said this was a traditional Nord dinner?"

"_**This doesn't explain it!**_" he and Baurus shouted, almost at the same time. Simhaud raised his hands.

"Well, you are not Nords and I'm not drinking mead. We're square!"

A bottle missed his face by a hair breadth, as he caught it a split second before it could hit.

"Pssh, you two have no sense of humor."

He proceeded to open the bottle and raise it in the air.

"To us, and to Dagon's defeat! May our victory taste far better than this!" he announced, before taking a long sip. Martin and Baurus, after a few moments and a look between them, did the same, for once without complaining about their beverage.

* * *

_Aaand, once again, thank you for your support! You all are the best!_  
_As usual, feel free to leave a comment: feedback and/or questions are always appreciated!_


	10. Chapter 9

_Answer time!_

_Diamondia: Yes, Simhaud is indeed becoming more Sheogorath-like (and, as you will find out soon enough, it's not limited to his behaviour)...but he's not exactly tiring of his avatar. It's more a matter of showing more of his true nature when he feels comfortable with the people around him (he's relaxed, so he doesn't worry much about his demeanor). And about the signs...well, the Blades were already suspicious, but the truth is simply too unrealistic for them to come up with (I mean, Daedric Princes aren't exactly known for jumping in aid of mankind). And the biggest clues he dropped were only heard by Martin, who _doesn't_ suspect him._

* * *

"I hate this place."

His voice had barely been a whisper, but its echo bounced off the old walls anyway. Not even the fact that he was almost at the heart of the ruin could be of some consolation to him…if nothing, it made him even more worried. Until that point Miscarcand had been full of goblins, undead and undead fighting goblins…but nothing too difficult to handle, even for a mortal adventurer. Now, he could choose to ignore the gigantic warning signs, or he could presume that something was ahead of him, something definitely more threatening than a pair of walking skeletons. And no, he was the Prince of Madness, not stupidity, so assuming the worst was his only option.

He stopped abruptly, crouching down: there it was, just ahead of him: a gigantic Welkynd stone, probably the size of his own head. With the Ebony Blade ready in one hand, he advanced carefully. He wasn't seeing anything, right now, but he could bet half of his beard that, the second he had touched the stone, something he really didn't want to see would have popped out from somewhere. Perhaps…

He sheathed the sword, reaching for his bow instead. There was nothing in the hall, right now, other than some pressure plates that he had no intention to step on, so that meant whatever was waiting for him would have used one of the door he could see on the other side. And yes, he was sure. No, he didn't want to use a detect soul spell to make sure. Yes, he was currently having an internal debate about his own paranoia. No, it was not paranoia, it was his _adventurer instinct _speaking!  
He reached for one of the little satchels on his belt, taking out a little bottle. He opened the vial, before putting it in his mouth and holding it there with his lips, without drinking yet. Good, now that he had two hands free…well, one, he had his bow in the left…he reached for the stone, grabbing and immediately dropping it on the ground. As expected, the removal of the stone was the signal for the doors to open…_ha! **Called it**._ He immediately reclined his head, making the liquid inside the bottle fall in his mouth. He gulped down, instantaneously seeing his body becoming transparent, just as a lich (_damn_) and two zombie henchmen walked into the hall. Whoever had invented chameleon potions deserved some kind of medal, really. The bottle still in his mouth (dropping it, thus making a sound, would have been really stupid. Even if he staying there with a potion in his mouth was a ridiculous sight, he valued his hide more. And let's face it, he was _currently almost invisible_, no one could see him anyway), he swiftly armed and aimed his bow. _The lich goes down first_, he thought, releasing the bowstring and thanking silently Nocturnal for her gift that granted him some precious seconds of invisibility. He managed to hit the lich three times before the potion wore off, and had even the time to throw away his weapon and unsheathe his sword before the powerful undead could react (oh, and drop the bottle still in his mouth). He jumped to the side, avoiding the frost spell aimed at him, then charged forward, with the intention of engaging the lich in melee combat. A loud **clank **from his right side informed him that one zombie had stepped on a pressure plate…and had released more zombies, he realized one moment later.

"_Sonofabitch."_ he muttered, pouncing on the lich and plunging his sword into the undead's head. He fell on the ground, as the damned thing dissolved into dust…uh. He must had weakened it before, with his arrows, but still…he was expecting something a little tougher. Oh, well, he wasn't going to complain. He grinned, before rolling away from the clumsy attempt of a zombie to hit him with its claws. He jumped on his feet, before launching himself against his opponents. Zombies were pretty resilient, he had to admit, but they were too slow to even think they could hit him…and, let's be honest, 'resilient' is a pretty misleading term when you are put against the Ebony Blade.

Four dead (deader?) zombies later, and he was leaning against the structure that had held the Great Stone, busy recharging his bow with a soul gem. He usually didn't require it, using his own energy and the souls of his slain enemies instead, but he still had to it sometimes, if nothing for the sake of appearances. Once he was done he sighed, putting his bow back to its place, while he walked towards the point where he had dropped the Welkynd stone. He looked at it for some seconds, before picking it up and putting it in his bag, until that point almost empty. Uh, maybe he should have dropped it somewhere, while he continued his quest to bring reinforcements from the eastern cities…or maybe he should have returned to Cloud Ruler Temple first, and then go east? Oh, well, that was a problem he would have resolved once he was out of that damned place, he concluded. He shrugged, before starting to walk towards the exit, fidgeting with the key he had find amidst the lich's ashes.

* * *

Nothing.

Martin almost wanted to hit the table with his head, but he was conscious of the fact that the only result that move could obtain was creating a bruise on his forehead. He had tried to decipher the last element needed for the ritual for days now, and the only thing he was pretty sure of was that this elusive piece of the puzzle had something to do with Oblivion. But, if he had to be more specific…nothing. He had nothing. He closed the book, sighing: right now he was so tired he could barely distinguish the words, let alone understand their meaning.

Just when he was about to get up and get some hours of sleep, the door to the courtyard suddenly opened and a Blade, which he recognized as Baurus after a few seconds, walked inside.

"Your Highness!"

He resisted the temptation to sigh: no matter how many times he had said it, the concept that he wanted such formalities to be avoided was completely ignored by the Blades.

"Baurus…is something the matter?"

The Redguard nodded, before handing him a bag. A suspiciously heavy bag, he discovered soon enough.

"This arrived today from Simhaud."

Martin took out the content of the bag…and had to refrain from gasping, as the Great Welkynd stone started to shine in his hands. Ah, how much he would have loved to have one in his youth…but he was digressing.

"So…where is he?"

It was almost…strange to not see him barging inside with whatever item he was supposed to retrieve, victory in his expression and somehow the right words for him.

"The messenger said that he had a note for you. Probably explains why he isn't here in person."

The Blade handed him a folded piece of parchment, which he took after putting down the Welkynd stone on the table. The calligraphy was pretty messy and so inclined to the left to give the impression a strong wind was threatening to make the words fly out of the sheet, but he could decipher it anyway.

"_Hey, Martin! If you're wondering why I'm not delivering this myself…well, I had to gather reinforcements from the eastern cities, and returning to the base would have been a waste of time, considering that I can afford supplies with my own money, now. Oh, don't worry: I took my precautions with the Stone, there's no danger of it to be stolen. Unless you are not Martin, which means my precautions weren't enough, and I'm a monumental idiot…Damn, I really hope you're Martin.  
Anyway, good luck with that goddamn book, I know you can decipher it by the time I will return. Just don't give up, okay? See you soon,  
Simhaud"  
_  
He almost laughed: even if he wasn't there, Simhaud had managed to make him feel better by saying the right thing at the right time…somehow. He put down the note, before giving a nod to Baurus.

"Thank you." he said, both to him and his strangest, absent friend.

* * *

"**HASKIE! **I missed you _so much!_"

There was a loud sigh from the Sanctuary…Well, from New Sheoth, really.

"I have no doubt, My Lord. I trust your mission is proceeding smoothly?"

There was something, in the tone of his chamberlain, that he really didn't like. Choosing to ignore it, he proceeded with the conversation with a cheerful attitude.

"Well, it could be worse. Oh, _**OH!**_ And the Isles? I really hope nothing is going on there! I'd **hate **to lose something funny!"

"Well…nothing unusual going on, My Lord, even if the term 'unusual' is indeed a strange one when referring to the Isles."

There was a few seconds of silence. Simhaud sighed, scratching his head. There was no avoiding it, was it? He still remembered the discussion he had with the Breton before assuming the guise of a mortal…and so did Haskill.

"Oh, come on, Haskill…are you still mad at me for coming here?"

"The correct term would be '_disappointed_', My Lord."

Indeed he was.

"You know it was the only way."

"May I suggest you to stop lying, Lord Sheogorath? While it may work on mortals and other Princes, it has no effect on me. And has no effect to you."

Sometimes the fact that Haskill knew him so well backfired horribly.

"Fine. Haskill, I _needed _to do this, and you know it."

"Are you still clinging to your paranoia that you owe something to those mortals, My Lord? Because you _don't_."

He really didn't want to have that conversation again, not in that moment. Sure, he could order Haskill to simply shut up…but really, wasn't that a simple admission of guilt? Plus, he really wasn't really keen on forcing his authority on his chamberlain.

"It's not a matter of 'owing' something to someone, okay? I am the best candidate for this role and I don't feel like sitting in my throne while Dagon does his dirty business down here."

Haskill sighed.

"My Lord, I thought we had agreed to not lie. Anyway…do you remember what happened in this zone of the Nibenay five years ago?"

Simhaud was honestly surprised by that question. What was Haskill implying?

"Of course, but I don't…"

"…See the point of that question? You were still a mortal then, a simple adventurer caught into a trap. While you are no more that man, it was not too long ago. I must admit, you adapted extremely quickly to your new role…"

"…But you fear this mission will undo my work. I know, Haskill."

He shook his head.

"But, as I have said before, I can't help it. I need to be here, and the risk is worth it."

He could hear the old Breton sigh on the other side of the mind channel they shared, but he didn't speak. They remained in silence for a minute, before the chamberlain spoke again.

"…As always, My Lord, the decision is yours. I will be here, ready to support you…I just hope you won't end regretting your choice."

Haskill had clearly a lot more to say, but he realized his Prince couldn't afford to be distracted…not when so much was at stake. Simhaud smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Haskill."

"Oh, here, Lord Sheogorath. To help you."

An amulet, which Simhaud quickly recognized as the Charity of Madness, appeared in his hands. That amulet was given to him by the old Madgod, to celebrate his arrival in New Sheoth. Umpf…'To help you...remember who you are', Haskill probably meant. Old fox he was…But he appreciated the gift, anyway.

"Well, I really couldn't expect you to give me the Talisman of Abetment, right?"

His attempt to joke fell on deaf ears, as usual.

"I will take my leave, My Lord. I truly hope you will be successful."

"You and me both, Haskill. You and me both."

* * *

"Hey, look who we have here! Long time no see, Methredhel."

Ongar the World-Weary smiled, which was a rare sight, then patted the space on the bench next to him.

"Want to share a beer with an old Nord?"

Methredhel smiled back, but shook her head.

"I'm afraid I have to reject your offer, for now. I still have to unpack…even if it means renouncing to the rare event of you not being a grumpy, tired asshole."

Ongar laughed, a deep, cavernous sound that covered for a second all the other noises in the tavern.

"Well, someone's claws are sharper than ever!"

After that, his expression definitely…well, not exactly darkened, but sure got more serious.

"How are the roads? I get a lot of news, and nothing good. Even with the soldiers from everywhere gathering here…"

It was Methredhel turn to get more serious, this time.

"Soldiers? I mean, I know there are a lot of Oblivion gates opening, but why are soldiers gathering _here_?"

Ongar didn't answer immediately. He got up, before signalling the Bosmer woman to follow him while exiting the Inn. Unpacking could wait, Methredhel decided. She followed him in the street of Bruma, in silence. It wasn't until they were in his home and he had closed the door that he spoke further.

"I guess the situation in the Imperial City must not be that bad…and that Armand doesn't know how screwed we are, because there was no way he would have let you travel here if he had known."

Methredhel could feel a cold shiver run down her spine. Armand had indeed tried to stop her, but she had decided to leave anyway without telling him beforehand, instead opting for a note explaining that she hadn't been kidnapped and that she would write again once she had arrived in Bruma. Thinking about her journey, however, she realized she hadn't encountered anything on the road other than a few mountain lions…how could the situation be that bad?

"…Screwed?"

The old Nord nodded, before sitting in a nearby chair.

"The situation in the eastern cities is critical. Here in the west we had more luck, being already visited by that living legend that is the Hero of Kvatch…"

"…The Hero of Kvatch? I heard something, but I thought that anyone capable of killing Daedra and closing Oblivion gates was nothing more an exaggerated legend."

Ongar shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that he's gathering allies from the cities and grouping them here in Bruma."

That could mean only that…

"Something big is going to happen here soon."

Damn. Methredhel cursed her and her idea to come to the northern town, but it was too late for it now. Ongar nodded.

"Yes. Also, there are rumours that someone big is currently residing in Cloud Ruler Temple, judging by all the activity going on there this days."

"Any idea?"

"Not at all, I'm afraid…And, let's be frank, I'm not too interested in knowing. This matter is something you don't want to be involved in as long as you can."

The Bosmer scoffed.

"Like you do with everything else."

"Aye! I'd like to not die with a dagger in my back for sticking my nose where I shouldn't have, thank you."

There were a few moments of silence, before Methredhel spoke again.

"So…did you see this fabled Hero?"

He shook his head.

"Nay. I know for sure he visited the town, but strangely enough no one could get a clear image of him. Even those he talked with, like the Captain of the guards, said that he always wore a cloak with a hood on."

"Sounds like someone doesn't want to be seen."

"And he's pretty damn good in doing that! Some of us could really learn from him."

The Bosmer chuckled, leaning on the wooden wall behind her.

"It's not nice to speak ill of Amusei behind his back."

Ongar responded with another one of his rare laughs at her stealth insult towards the Argonian. Methredhel smiled, before continuing speaking.

"So…what do we know of him…Assuming that he is indeed an he."

Ongar expression turned serious again, which could only sour Methredhel's expression as well.

"Methredhel, promise me you won't freak out."

"Starting with that isn't really a good sign, you know?"

The man sighed, raising his hands in defeat.

"Fine. He's a white-haired Nord man, and if the reports coming from Chorrol, Anvil, Skingrad and what remains of Kvatch are true, he's some sort of god with both bows and swords."

Thanks the Nine she was currently leaning on the wall, because she would have probably fell down otherwise. Her mind started to race, returning to that morning in the Market District…

"…I must also remind you that what are you thinking is impossible."

Yes, she knew, dammit! Simhaud was dead. She had seen his body, with his throat slit…and yet, it had always felt wrong. Simhaud, her Simhaud, probably the best warrior in the whole Guild, killed in a back alley like a common idiot. Plus, there was the strange way he had looked (and acted) when he had returned…She shook her head. No, it was impossible. But still…there was something going on. The man she had seen in the Imperial City was really too similar to Simhaud for her to dismiss everything as a strange coincidence. Probably this Hero was just a random Nord, who happened to be extremely skilled and to share some physical characteristic with Simhaud…but she wanted to make sure anyway. For the moment, she would just smile and going on as if nothing had happened, but inside…

"…You are right, of course. Sorry if…"

"No, don't apologize. Go to your house and rest, okay? And consider the idea of returning to the Imperial City as soon as possible, that's probably the safest place in the whole region."

No, she was definitely not going to do that. If what Ongar had said was true, then this Hero was bound to return to Bruma, sooner or later…and when he had done it, she would be there. Right now, she just had to wait.

"Thank you. I will think about it…but for now goodbye, Ongar. Shadow hide you."

* * *

"Peryite?"

The Prince of Pestilence was distracted by his current matter by a voice, ringing directly in his mind.

"Oh, Lord Sheogorath. Nice to see that someone finally remembers that I'm still here."

The mortal avatar of the Madgod shrugged.

"I was going to protest, but you might have a point, here. Not that I agree with that treatment…let's face it, I'd rather have you instead of Malacath in our reunions, but sadly Mephala never forgets to invite her ally. Well, next time I'll invite you myself."

He did not sense deception in Sheogorath's words…not that it was surprising. A lot of people (sadly even some Daedric Princes) thought him and Sheogorath to be at odds…but that was simply not true. Despite him being the Prince of Order, his idea of 'order' was not the one of Jyggalag, Sheogorath's sworn enemy. He presided over _natural _order, which one might argue it's a pretty chaotic concept itself. Oh, better stop, he was rambling again, really. In the meantime, Sheogorath had ceased to speak, starting to looking around instead.

"…But anyway, what are those people doing here, on the ground? Are they dead?"

Peryite couldn't help but sigh. His stupid followers…they really had to reach for him, had they? Now they were trapped in some Oblivion plane out of his control.

"Just mortals being mortals, as usual." he eluded the question, with a shrug.

"Oh."

"Anyway, I received a visit from Hermaeus Mora some time ago."

This seemed to pick the Madgod's interest, judging by his expression.

"What did he said?"

The Prince stood silent for a few seconds, examining closely Sheogorath.

"…He was right, after all."

His phrase seemed to irritate his interlocutor, who visibly frowned.

"Right about what?"

"About you. Tell me, has your…say, prowess in battle got better lately?"

Sheogorath's face was the only thing he needed to understand the situation, so continued before the other Prince could ask for more explanations.

"You see, avatars are not really supposed to stay in Nirn for long. We use them for a few hours and then we destroy them, like the empty husks they are."

"I hope you are not going to say that my current body is going to disintegrate soon."

Peryite had to repress the temptation to shake his head…it was useless, since the other Prince couldn't see him.

"Not exactly. Your body will look like nothing has changed, on the outside. However, it will wear down at the seams, and what is underneath it will start to show."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Normally, the barrier between Nirn and Oblivion would prevent the Prince inside the avatar from emerging that much, but…"

"…Right now there's nothing that stops my nature from becoming increasingly evident. The fact that I feel stronger is just my true power leaking out."

Sometimes he found himself surprised of how intelligent (and sometimes even cunning) the usually loud and foolish Prince of Madness could reveal himself to be.

"Do you remember your last contact with Lord Mora?"

He nodded.

"Well, he knew my Sanctuary would be one of the first you were going to visit in the east, so he came and we had a little talk, so I could warn you in turn. He told me he had tried to stop the process, but he couldn't neither undone the damage your avatar already had or stop the progress of it completely…not with having to be discreet."

"So that's what he was doing in Sancre Tor…tell me, how bad the situation is?"

Peryite studied him again for a few seconds before answering.

"Right now your aura is barely noticeable…and consider the fact that I knew for certain that there was something and I was actively looking for it. However, the more you will stay in Nirn, the more the effect will be evident. Mora told me he expects your nature to fully manifest in one, maybe two months."

Sheogorath nodded, a serious expression on his face.

"Well, I think I can complete my task in time, then. Thank you for warning me."

"You are welcome…oh, and before I forget. Here."

In front of the Shrine materialized a pair of Glass boots, which Sheogorath promptly examined.

"My Spellbreaker would be useless, considering your fighting style, so I enchanted these for you. They really should help in the Deadlands."

The Madgod's jaw almost dropped, once he recognized the enchantments on the two pieces of armour.

"Wow. _Wow_. Peryite, you're officially my new favourite Daedric Prince after me. Next time someone says you are useless, I'll smack them with the Wabbajack. _Hard_."

He really didn't know whether feeling flattened, amused or irritated.

"_Thank you._" was his dry answer.

"And I think I want to test these little jewels…do you know in which plane your followers were sent?"

Peryite frowned, surprised by that phrase. How had the Madgod understood the situation?

"I didn't say…"

"No, but I understood what had happened anyway."

The Taskmaster found himself smiling, almost absent-mindendly. He should have started to frequent the Madgod more, really. He wasn't a bad fellow, after all.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! As always, comments are always welcome.  
Oh, and I've finally managed to finish a draw of Simhaud, so if anyone wants to have a look at it it's on my Tumblr page.  
_


	11. Chapter 10

"So, I'm guessing that your mission is almost complete."

Simhaud simply shrugged, leaning against the cold stone of the Sanctuary.

"Well, I still have to visit Cheydinhal and I have no idea whether the Septim has deciphered the last item we need or not, so…"

There was a low feminine laugh on the other side of the conversation. To be honest, he wasn't used to hear Boethiah with a female voice…yeah, fine, Daedra have no sex, but they usually choose a form and stick with it, maybe with some little modifications but that was not the point. Oh, well, only time would tell him if that new form was a whim or something more permanent.

"Oh, he has indeed managed to do that. You will find out soon enough."

That tone alone was enough to inform him that the last item was _not _something he wanted to fetch…again. Just great, he thought while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"_Wonderful_."

"Oh, I know you will manage with ease. And my gift will definitely help you, I'm sure."

The black chestplate appeared in his hands, and it took some seconds for him to spot what was wrong with it. Well, not exactly _wrong_, but still…

"…How in Oblivion did you manage to reforge the Ebony Mail to make it this light? Damn, I didn't even think you could make chainmail out of Ebony."

He couldn't see Boethiah, but he could definitely imagine the smirk on the other Prince's face.

"Little secret of mine…besides, the Ebony Mail would really not be useful to you as a piece of heavy armor, right?"

"Still…It's not going to break in the middle of combat, right?"

"You _wound_ me, Sheogorath!"

The tone was one of fake insult, but the Prince returned serious almost immediately.

"Obviously it's not as durable as a the original, but it's still perfectly capable of withstanding a blow from a Daedric sword. And the thicker plate that covers the chest should protect you enough, without hindering your movements. I'm quite proud of this redesign, if I have to be honest."

Good enough for him. He nodded, studying a bit more the gift.

"Oh, and we really should do something about the rest of your armor."

What did he (she? They?) was implying? His armour was pretty fine, thank you so much.

"Uh? What do you mean? I think basically every adventurer would kill their mothers for this set."

The phrase seemed to amuse the Prince of Treason…for obvious reasons.

"Now that you mention it…but no, I'm not talking about their power. I'm talking about the fact that they clash in a terrible manner. You have…ugh, you can almost smell the stench of Bal on that helmet…"

"Boethiah, get to the point."

"…Ahem. Glass, fur and leather, glass again, leather without fur and now Ebony…You seem an adventurer who has just finished robbing some tombs."

He shrugged.

"Well, that's the impression I wanted to give…"

He heard a sigh from the other side.

"You should aim for something else, then. You should want to strike fear in the heart of your enemies and awe in your mortal allies, not look like a scarecrow made from leftover cloth!"

Simhaud sighed.

"Fine, you win this time. What do I have to do?"

Once again, the image of a grinning Daedric Prince of Deceit flashed in his mind.

"Just wear the Mail. I'll handle the rest."

* * *

Martin shifted, uncomfortably, in his new set of armour before he could stop himself, while trying his best to not let his expression falter.

"Your Highness, I ask you to reconsider."

He could understand Jauffre's concerns, but he knew there wasn't another way. He shook his head, looking at the Blade straight in the eyes. _You are the Emperor and you are right. Don't stop now._

"I can't. It's the only way for us to recover the Amulet."

The Blade sighed, shaking his head.

"While I have no right to discuss an order from you, Simhaud is another matter entirely. We shall see what he will think, when he'll return. Because, I remind you, he's the only one that can hope to succeed."

Despite his best efforts he couldn't help but wince. Knowing Simhaud, the discussion was not going to be a pleasant one. He was pretty certain that in the end he could convince the Nord, like that time in Kvatch, but still, the idea of arguing with him again was not amusing. He sighed, running an armoured hand in his hair…and wincing again as a lock of his brown hair got stuck in the metal glove. Ouch, he wasn't used to wear armour…and now he really wondered how the Blades managed to do everything with their heavy metal plates, too.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, as he quickly turned his head to look whoever had entered.

"Ah, Simhaud! We…_By the Nine_."

He was sure he had never seen Jauffre this surprised…and he was also sure that his own current expression, with his mouth wide open, was definitely not really befitting an Emperor. Simhaud looked at them for a moment, with a resigned expression, before shrugging.

"Yeah, I know. It's a little over the top."

'Over the top' wasn't the words he would have used to describe that armour…maybe he would have chosen something more like 'magnificent', or 'stately'. The Nord was wearing a black chainmail (Ebony? How was that even possible?), with a polished, slightly lucid plate covering his chest, with the same reflexes that he could also see on the glass boots and the helmet (black glass? Again, he wasn't even aware that could be possible…), the latter currently under the Nord's left arm. Black were also his leather trousers and fur lined leather gloves, fur that was also draped on his shoulders in a cape that swayed in the northern wind, closed with a silver brooch depicting an emblem he didn't quite recognize. And, now that he looked better, silver engravings bordered all the armour, a discreet presence not unlike the owner. Well, no, right now Simhaud looked like an ethereally beautiful god of the night, which was not very discreet…wait, did he just called Simhaud 'beautiful'? Maybe it was all the magic, mainly Daedric, around the Nord that confused him.

"Besides, I'm not the only one that got a new set of armour. Nice one, Martin."

Martin had to resist the urge to shake his head. He had not worn that armour for long, so perhaps there was room for improvement, but the only thing he could think while looking at himself was '_Gods, I feel so clumsy in this thing'_. The richly decorated armour was, instead of radiating an aura of majesty, making him feel like a poor animal trapped in a leather and metal cage…and looking at the man that had just entered the door was only worsening his impression.

Jauffre cleared his throat, thankfully snapping him out of his trance.

"Anyway…the Emperor found what is the last item we need for the ritual…you should speak with him, and maybe dissuade him from following the crazy plan he has devised."

Simhaud's expression immediately darkened, but he didn't speak, not even when Jauffre left the room. Martin sighed, before initiating the conversation.

"Well…I would like to thank you for recovering the Great Stone. It arrived safely some time ago."

The Nord raised an eyebrow.

"I promised I would have brought that to you, didn't I?"

Despite the tension he could feel he smiled, even if weakly.

"You did. I can really count on you."

Simhaud smiled, a little smile that did not linger for long on his lips.

"So, you have found what we need."

Martin nodded, looking at the Stone shimmering on the table he had spent countless hours studying at.

"I should have seen it sooner. It's the counterpart to the Great Welkynd Stone, just as the first two were the opposed powers of the Daedra and the Divines. Welkynd stones contain the concentrated power of Mundus; their counterparts are Sigil stones, which are used to hold open Oblivion Gates. A Great Sigil Stone, then, is what we require."

There were a few seconds of silence, in which the atmosphere become quite chilly despite the door being now closed.

"I will hate myself for saying this, but…how do we put our hands on one?"

Here it comes. Martin inhaled deeply before answering, trying to not let his voice break.

"You're not going to like it. Jauffre doesn't like it. The Countess of Bruma certainly isn't going to like it. Great Sigil Stones are the anchors of Great Gates…The kind of gate the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch."

He paused.

"The kind of Gate the Mythic Dawn wants to open here to destroy Bruma."

Silence.

"I said you weren't going to like this."

Simhaud simply groaned.

"Now I know why Jauffre was so pissed, before."

He was taking the whole situation better than he would have expected, strangely. Well, at least he was neither shouting nor calling him a moron…or a madman.

"The risk is great, I know. I was at Kvatch. I saw the terrible power of that Daedric war machine…But we have no choice. The only way to recover the Amulet of Kings is to allow the Mythic Dawn to proceed with their plan."

Simhaud nodded, slowly.

"I don't like it, but you are right, it's our only chance. I really hope the soldiers I've gathered and the few Blades we can spare from guarding you will be enough."

Martin shook his head, once he had understood what Simhaud was implying.

"No, I will not stay here in Cloud Ruler Temple; I'll lead the defense of Bruma myself. If I am to be Emperor, it's time I started acting like one."  
_  
That _was the phrase that made Simhaud snap.

"**WHAT?! **Martin, this is stupid! It's too risky for you to participate in the battle. Jauffre can do it…damn, I could even do this myself!"

No. Maybe he was right, maybe it really was stupid. It didn't matter.

"Remember when we first met in Kvatch? I told you that I didn't want any part of the gods' plan. I still don't know if there is a divine plan, but…I've come to realize that it doesn't matter. What matters is that we act. That we do what's right, when confronted with evil. That's what you did at Kvatch. It wasn't the gods that saved us, it was you. Were you acting for the gods? I don't know. But now it's my turn to act."

Simhaud opened his mouth, though he couldn't say whether for the surprise or because he wanted to speak further, but he closed it almost immediately. He sighed, running an hand into his messy white hair.

"You really have changed, Martin."

Was that…a smile? Before he could examine it more, however, the Nord bowed his head.

"I will follow your lead, then."

His heart clenched at that sight, at that gesture of submission. Simhaud was not another soldier obeying to his superiors' orders, he was a friend. He wanted the Nord to follow him because he wanted to, not because he felt he _had _to.

"Please, my friend. I need your judgement, not your obedience."

Simhaud raised both his head and an eyebrow.

"Acting like a little obedient soldier and following someone's orders blindly was never an option."

He definitely meant it…no wonder he had refused to join the Blades, when Jauffre had asked him. Reassured, Martin continued.

"I explained myself to you so you could understand me…and so you can explain to the Countess. I'm afraid she may take a bit more convincing than you."

Simhaud groaned again, this time in a more dramatic fashion.

"That's the understatement of the Era, Martin. If she tries to strangle me know that the fault is yours."

Now that the worst had passed, he found the strength to laugh.

"I'll live with that guilt. Anyway, have her meet me in the Chapel of Talos for a council of war. That seems a fitting place to make such desperate plans."

Simhaud nodded.

"Can you tell me a little more about the details of this plan of yours?"

Martin closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think about how to phrase what he was going to say.

"As I said, we must allow the Mythic Dawn to proceed with their plan to open three lesser Gates outside Bruma."

…Nevermind. At least he had been direct and clear.

"What makes you think that they will open it when we want them to?"

Martin inspired.

"Well…it's a golden occasion for them. They would get to crush our only hope to stop Dagon…namely, killing me…while eliminating a great deal of Cyrodiil's soldiers. If they are so confident about their forces as I think they are, they won't be able to resist."

Simhaud seemed to reflect for some seconds, before shrugging.

"Yes, it makes sense, but…did you say they have to open three Gates?"

Martin nodded.

"Yes: according to the plans you captured from those spies, they need three lesser Gates open before they can open a Great Gate. The Great Gate will allow them to bring out a Siege Machine to blast the walls of Bruma, just like at Kvatch, but it's our only hope to get the Great Sigil Stone we need to complete the ritual."

Simhaud sighed, leaning against the wall behind him.

"So it's also a timed mission. Take too long, and Bruma ends like Kvatch."

"Indeed, you'll have to act swiftly when the Great Gate opens. But I have faith in you, Simhaud. I know you can succeed."

The Nord simply smiled, before nodding.

"Very well. I'll go talk to Countess Narina immediately, then. Let's meet at the Chapel…See you later, Martin."

* * *

Convincing the Countess had been easier than he had expected, honestly. I mean, he didn't even had to use magic to do that! Maybe his new appearance had had a role in that, but he wasn't entirely sure. Oh, well. He shook his head, trying not to think about the last words of the Countess…failing spectacularly, of course.

"_If Bruma falls, the Empire falls with us. So be it._"

There were times mortals really surprised him…and he should have known, he used to be one. The Emperor, Martin, the Countess…they fought until the end with currents much stronger than them, but were ready to accept to be swept away, like the frail leaves in the wind they were. Had he changed so much, for those display of courage to amaze him so? How could mortals' resilience and stubbornness, paired with acceptance of their inherent limit surprise him, when himself had felt the same emotions not too long ago? He didn't know, and honestly it didn't matter: the only important thing, right now, was the attack that was due in a few days, once the last soldiers from the east had arrived. He had to prepare himself, because the whole mission was not going to be an easy one…what if Martin got himself killed while he was in the Gate? A cold shiver run across his back at the thought, and the event definitely did not make him happy. He could pretend his reaction was only because the Imperial was the cornerstone of their plan to stop Dagon, but he would have also known that he was lying to himself. He _cared_ about Martin, he realized with not-so-little horror, and could no longer see him as a simple pawn to be moved in his current war…damn. Haskill's voice almost resounded in his head, cautioning him against letting Simhaud emerge once again from Sheogorath. He shook his head, desperately trying to change the direction of his thoughts into something less dangerous.

He was so absorbed in his internal struggle that he didn't notice he was being pulled in the dark alley he was passing in front of until he was violently slammed against the wall, his head hitting the hard surface behind him. He opened his eyes, that he had instinctively closed on the impact, just to see the last person on Mundus he wanted to see in that moment.  
_  
Goddammit._

Methredhel was in front of him, holding a dagger at his throat, just above the upper rim of the chainmail protecting his neck. He gulped down, suppressing his expression into a neutral one: he was wearing a hood, after all, maybe the few instants of shock he had felt and transpired on his face were hidden by the cowl.

"Remove your hood. _Now_."

There was no escape, he couldn't hope to be faster than the cold metal that was being pushed against his neck. Internally cursing himself for choosing that particular form, and outwardly not showing any trace of emotion, he did as he was told. He could clearly hear the gasp that escaped the Bosmer's lips…well, he really couldn't hope to not be recognized, could he?

He had thought that the shock would distract Methredhel, maybe allowing him a few instants he could use to free himself and run away, but no, nothing of the sort happened. The pressure on his throat not only did not diminish, it augmented. He was pretty sure that the sharp blade was drawing blood, but a little cut was the lesser of his concerns at the moment.

"…So it's you. It's really you."  
_  
Play dumb_.

"Are you part of the Mythic Dawn, or are you just a random cutpurse?"

The punch hit his right cheek before he could even register the movement of the woman's arm…and the worst part was that the dagger was still firm in its place. Damn, he really needed a distraction there!

"Don't. Play. Dumb. With me."

"Woman, I don't know what are you talking about."

This time he definitely saw the arm moving, but could still do nothing to avoid the hit.

"You left us alone. We all thought you were dead…I even saw your corpse. _Why?_"

There was no easy exit from that situation, was it?

So be it.

"Why did you see Simhaud's corpse on that alley, you mean?"

The arm raised, for the third time, but this time he was ready, and blocked it midair. This surprised Methredhel, and for a split second the dagger's edge left his skin. It was all he needed to free himself and to push the Bosmer on the wall in front of him, blocking both her hands so she couldn't attempt to stab him…or, better, cut his throat…again.

"Why…_WHY?!_"

A part of his mind registered that the woman was shouting, and if anyone had been around the situation would definitely have worsened, but the majority of himself didn't care. He was not Simhaud, that's all he had to remember in that moment. He was not…

"Shut up. You wanted answers, didn't you? I'm feeling generous right now, so I'll humor you…and I'll try to forget the fact that you ambushed me. Really, count yourself lucky."

He didn't care that he was sounding either a total asshole or a dangerous criminal, right now. He was doing this for her own good. Like five years before…it was going to be painful, but that was the only way.

"…You are not Simhaud."

Methredhel was scared, but still found the strength to speak.

"No, I am not. Simhaud is dead, remember?"

He didn't even know whether he was saying that to the Bosmer or to himself.

"…but you look like him. You have the same voice, the same smell, the same way of walking…and you knew how he died."

"Of course I do, I was the one who killed him."

He was pretty sure that, if he had not tightened his grip on the Bosmer's wrists, Methredhel would have freed herself, then jumped on him and bitten his face off.

"You…_you bastard!_"

"Keep this attitude up, and I will really find difficult to maintain the promise I made Simhaud."

Wait. _What?_

Methredhel petrified immediately, shock replacing rage on her face.

"What…Promise?"

"To not hurt you. Simhaud…let's just say he stuck his nose in matters too big for him, and that the price was either die himself or see everyone around him suffer. He choose the first option, but the condition was that I would not be allowed to hurt anyone close to him…Not that I had reasons to, but he still felt the need to put that clause down."

Was he lying? Was he referring to his half decision to never influence anyone he knew as a mortal as a dying pact between two beings? Was he trying to put his past self in a noble light, to make up for how heinous he was being forced to act right now and for how cowardly he had indeed acted before? He did not know.

"He really had preferred to not leave you, believe me, but he really had no choice."

_Did he really believe what he had just said?_

He could almost feel the woman's will break, as she started to cry uncontrollably. He released her wrists and she fell down on her knees, the dagger hitting the stone road as it slipped down from her hand. He looked at her for some seconds, before turning away. He had only made a few steps when Methredhel spoke again, between the sobs.

"What are you?"

He stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"Right now I don't even know myself."

He started walking again, trying to get away from there as fast as he could.

* * *

"Simhaud…are you alright?"

The Nord almost jumped at the sound of his voice, and Martin noticed that.

"Uh. Usually I am the one that just can't hear you coming, not the reverse."

Simhaud simply shook his head, avoiding the Imperial's gaze.

"You are not just worried about the plan, right? There's something else going on."

"Yes."

He had never seen Simhaud so lost in his own thoughts.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Finally, the Nord raised his eyes to meet Martin's. The former priest could see indecision for a moment, before the other spoke.

"I really wish I could."

Simhaud shook his head, before continuing.

"Don't worry, it won't distract me on the battlefield…or in the Gate."

It was Martin's turn to shook his head.

"I never doubted, and you know perfectly that was not the cause of my concern."

Simhaud offered him a smile, even if it was a sad one.

"You really are special, Martin."

"Strange, I heard that a lot regarding you, Simhaud."

There was a long silence between them.

"Thank you. I can't talk about it right now…and probably I won't be able to do even later, but I appreciate your concern."

That was a polite way to tell someone 'That's none of your business', sure, but…He wasn't sure why, but he detected a smudge of regret in that phrase, as he had in the phrases before. Simhaud really couldn't talk about it, for some reason.

"That's what friends do, right?"

"…Right."

Another long silence.

"Changing the subject, you really need some help with that armour."

Damn, he had noticed…if only to steer the object of the conversation. He had also assumed a more neutral expression, his previous worried face completely disappeared. Once again, Simhaud had allowed him to see under his mask, before returning it to its place…just what kind of secret he was protecting? He did not know, but he trusted Simhaud…and Simhaud trusted him, in his own way. Maybe he wasn't being completely honest with him, but he was being more honest than he was with everyone else.

"There's not a lot we can do in a couple of days, but I think I can help you learn how to move around a little better."

He nodded. There was nothing he could do at the moment for Simhaud, if he didn't want to be helped. Right now, he could only focus on the upcoming battle…and in staying alive during it.

* * *

They were ready.

Simhaud inspired, his left hand resting on the hilt of the Ebony Blade, before looking towards Martin. He could practically feel the anxiety around him, but right now the Septim was doing a remarkable job in not letting it show much. Good, because everyone was looking at him, right now. He walked towards him, exchanging a long look with the Imperial when he turned his head in the Nord's direction.

"My place is on the battlefield. The time for hiding in Cloud Ruler Temple is over. Come, let us go down to battle together." Martin finally spoke, turning away his head. But Simhaud had already seen what his eyes were hiding: fear, sure, but also determination, courage, confidence. He had had the eyes of a leader.

"I will gladly follow you, Martin."

A month before he would have been ashamed to say that to anyone, especially to a mortal, even as part of his cover. Right now? Perhaps a part of him really meant what he had just said.

They walked together the streets of Bruma, Martin in front and Simhaud behind, followed by their army of desperate soldiers and faithful Blades. He barely register the habitants of Bruma hailing Martin as the Emperor and him as the Hero of Kvatch, focused as he was on the upcoming battle. He walked on the snow on the road outside of Bruma, trying to not think about its whiteness, whiteness that was about to be painted red. He listened to the wind, almost hearing battlecries and the sound of metals clashing in it.

And finally, they had stopped, everyone but one man. Martin kept walking, before turning to face the little army in front of him.

"Soldiers of Cyrodiil! The Empire will stand or fall by what we do here today!"

Simhaud still remembered the first speech of the Imperial…and this one didn't even seem delivered by the same person. There was fire in it, stubbornness and braveness and confidence.

"Will we let the Daedra do to Bruma what they did to Kvatch? Will we let them burn our homes? We will let them kill our families? **No!**"

He unsheathed his sword, raising it in the air.

"We make our stand here, today, for the whole of Cyrodiil! We must hold fast until the Hero of Kvatch can destroy their Great Gate! We **must** kill whatever comes out of that gate! **Soldiers of Cyrodiil!** Do you stand with me?"

There was a shout from the soldiers behind him.

"Kvatch stands with the Emperor!"

He could clearly hear the sound of swords behind him being unsheathed, and he could see a soldier next to him raise it to the sky.

"Chorrol stand s with the Emperor!"

"Leyawiin stands with the Emperor!"

Everyone shouted, one city at time.

"The Blades stand with the Emperor!"

He unsheathed his sword too, but stopped an instant before saying something. What was he representing in that moment? Simhaud? Sheogorath? …Because in that case he really couldn't announce it so openly. The answer, however, came almost immediately as he looked towards Martin, fire still in his eyes.

"_I_ stand with the Emperor!" he shouted, raising the Ebony Blade.

It didn't matter whether he was being Sheogorath or Simhaud, both or neither. The only important thing at the moment was protecting Martin, protecting Bruma, protecting Tamriel; his doubts had to wait.

* * *

_Once again, thanks for your support! Being in the middle of my summer exams and generally distracted by other projects, I can't guarantee regular updates, but don't worry, I'm pretty confident I'll manage to get out at least a chapter per month. Feel free to comment!_


	12. Chapter 11

"**On your left!**"

Simhaud quickly dodged the blow, just to return the favour to the Xivilai that had the bad idea of attacking him. The Nord had no time to admire the head of the Daedra flying away, however, as he was forced to roll away from a shock spell, probably courtesy of a Spider Daedra. Cursed things.  
He got up on his feet, just in time to parry the blow of a Dremora that would have probably hit Martin had he not intervened.

"Not a smart move, pal." he murmured, as the Ebony Blade claimed yet another life with a quick, clean strike.

"**Simhaud! **The last Gate has just opened!"

The phrase distracted enough for him to be hit by a shock spell…okay, now he was definitely annoyed. **That Spider Daedra was fucking **_**dead**_**.  
**  
"The Great Gate will open soon! Go, I'll manage here! **Remember Kvatch!**" shouted Martin, before finishing off a clannfear with a fireball.

"Fine. **BAURUS! **Protect the Emperor while I'm in there!"

The Redguard, who was busy fighting not too distant from them (and for once wasn't being thrown around by assorted spells), nodded quickly before finishing his current opponent and running to the side of Martin. Simhaud inspired, looking around and trying to locate…oh, there she was. He rushed forward, ending his brief run with a leap that took him right on the back of that annoying Daedra, despite her best attempts to fry him mid-sprint.

"Surprise."

He plunged the Ebony Blade into the head of the damned thing, for once enjoying his kill as much as his sword did, before leaping down and starting to run again.  
He could feel it…in front of him, Daedric magic concentrating in the air, accumulating…and finally exploding, as the red mass of the Great Gate was summoned in front of the three minor Gates. He grinned as he dived without hesitation into the massive portal, a split second before being hit by an ice lance.

* * *

"Sir, one mortal has managed to enter the Gate."

The Kynmarcher, currently busy barking orders to both the Dremora taming the Siege Engine and the ones opening the doors, turned around to acknowledge both the scout and her words.

"Ah, so our little saboteur enters the scene. Are all the soldiers we deployed in the passages near the gate set?" he grinned, distaste for their enemy and pride for the trap he had devised both present in his voice.

"Yes, sir, with detect life spells ready, as you ordered."

He laughed, openly this time.

"Ah! We'll see how well this pathetic mortal rat tries to sneak around without being spotted, this time!"

"**KYNMARCHER**! The…the mortal!"

The shout had come from a frantic scout, who had just arrived, running, and was now clearly out of breath.

"What's going on? The little pest should already have entered one of the passages, by now." the Kynmarcher growled, definitely not liking the expression on the newly-arrived Caitliff. The scout, that had by now re-gained a little bit of breath, finally managed to speak again.

"Sir, the mortal…has started to run on the lava!"

* * *

Simhaud didn't stop running once he was into the Gate. He almost immediately saw the Siege Crawler through the opening gates in front of him…damn, that was a huge beast. He was almost amazed by the fact that it was _alive_, but he definitely had not time to admire it. He run directly towards it, eyeing the sea of lava it was currently walking on. He noticed two entrances to underground passages, one on his left and one on his right, but he ignored them. He couldn't know how filled they were with Daedra out for his blood, but he did know something: crawling inside those tunnels was a colossal waste of time.

With a vicious grin spreading to his face, he stepped on the lava. And made another step, and another, and yet another. He quickly darted to the side of the Siege Engine, silently thanking Peryite for his thoughtful gift. It was not common knowledge, but a simple water-walking spell could be used to walk also on lava. The only problem was that the high temperature could burn any mortal alive just after a few steps (now that he thought about it, maybe that was why no one used it)…so that's why the Prince of Pestilence had added a second enchantment, a terrifyingly powerful fire resistance spell that was also magnified by the amulet he was wearing. Right now, he could have walked right into a fire, and feel nothing except a mild sensation of warmth. Some turrets locked into him and fired (no pun intended), but hey, once again, fire resistance. They would have probably had more success if they had started throwing pebbles, honestly. He noticed an opening on his right, formed by a gap into the bridge over him, and he immediately turned, exiting from the main lava pit into a secondary one. Good, because it was only a matter of time because the Dremora realized they had been played for fools and started deploying archers and mages to bring him down, meaning that he had to disappear, _fast_. He searched for something in his pockets, as his feet touched stone again. _Ah-ah_! Found it. He slowed his run, as he removed one of his gauntlets (with his teeth, because he hadn't unsheathed the Ebony Blade, and he already had to hold the blade and what he had just recovered) to free his left hand slip a ring on his middle finger. The Ring of the Khajiit…nice move, Meridia. With the gauntlet still in his mouth he sheathed his sword, running towards the wall of rock in front of him. He could see a road on top of it, and that road must had led to the Sigil Keep. He really hoped he could stay undetected while climbing, otherwise he would be in trouble…or a pretty pincushion. His heart thumping in his chest like a battledrum, he started his ascent, clouded by the dark mist coming from the Ebony Mail and hoping that outside of the Gate everyone was holding up just fine.

* * *

The Kynmarcher could do nothing but watch the little, dark figure in the distance run on the fiery liquid that should have, by all accounts, killed him and then disappear when he turned, leaving the lane reserved for the Siege Engine. There were a few instants of silence, before he hit the unfortunate scout near him with a punch.

"**DON'T STAND HERE YOU USELESS TWITS! I want all the soldiers to the Keep! **_**RIGHT NOW**_**!**"

The poor Daedra had no choice but to jump on his feet and to dart away, quickly followed by the other scout (who definitely had no intention of being punched, too).  
The Dremora growled, reaching for the Daedric battleaxe he had fixed on his back. The little mortal pest had just signed his death warrant, even if he didn't know it yet. He stomped away from the Siege Engine, running straight for the Sigil Keep.

* * *

Baurus slashed with his katana, finally managing to chop a Dremora's head after breaking his guard. However, he was allowed no time to catch his breath, as a quick movement in his peripheral vision informed him that another opponent was approaching the Emperor…again. Now, those were the times where he really wished he had Simhaud fighting on his side, killing every Daedra on sight. He lunged towards the danger, trying to not think much about it: Simhaud was needed elsewhere, and right now _he _was the one who had to kill every Daedra on sight. He intercepted the blow, that would otherwise had hit the Emperor, before counterattacking.

"Thank you!" he heard Martin shout, before hearing the very distinct sound of a lightning spell. He was not fast enough, and the attack hit the Emperor squarely in the chest, making him fall briefly on his knees.

"**EMPEROR!**"

That was Jauffre's voice, and may the Divines bless that man. He finally managed to defeat his opponent, and to run to the side of the Septim, who had been busy casting an healing spell on himself.

"I'm fine! We need to kill that damned Spider Daedra, though." he said, getting up and falling into his guard position again.

"Right. Baurus, it's yours! I will defend the Emperor, **go!**"

He didn't need to be told twice. He nodded, before darting towards the unholy Daedra and hoping to not be fried. They could do it…they only had to resist. Simhaud was going to appear soon…_he had to_.

* * *

By the time he had arrived to the door of the Keep, after climbing the steep stone wall, stopping for a moment to remove the ring, put his gauntlet on again and then running all the way there, he had no more breath. He had to lean for a few moments on the metal of the tower, trying desperately to not choke in his desperate attempt to breathe more air in, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. Damn, he hated being a mortal…and he really hadn't the time to put up with his avatar's bullshit, in that situation. He could almost hear the Siege Engine moving, crawling out of the Portal…Ugh. He looked down, to look at the situation: the infernal machine had moved a lot, but had not arrived to the Gate…yet. Grimacing, he forced himself to renounce to the tower support, and to run towards the doors. He started to examine them, trying to locate the mechanism that opened them…and finding it locked. Damn. He had just started to rummage in one of his pockets, in the desperate search of a lockpick, when a voice coming from behind made him almost jump out of his skin.

"There you are, little shit. Even your little brain should let you realize that we would lock the main door."

He turned, just to see a grinning Dremora…and a higher ranking one, he realized after a brief inspection of his armour…with a giant battleaxe in his hands and a definitely annoying smug tone. Well, _**fuck him**_. He really had no time to pull up with the damned, oversized pride of the Dremora and their gloating. He raised an hand, his middle finger up, as he casted a spell with the other. The mechanism clanked a second later…damn, he had always considered the sound of a lock opening like a little fanfare of victory, but right now that little _clank_ that the door had made was a heavenly symphony, a brief chorus of Jills and Aedric spirits chanting 'Fuck you' to the annoying asshole in front of him. And, apparently, by the furious expression of the Daedra, the lyrics of that symphony had been perfectly understood (that, and Simhaud was very clearly flipping the bird to him. That was an hard sign to miss). The Dremora shouted some insult in Daedric (that Simhaud understood perfectly, by the way) before launching himself against the Nord. Damn, he was fast, he realized a split second before rolling away and seeing the Daedric battleaxe hit the ground where he was standing a moment before. The few moments the Dremora had needed to free his weapon were just enough for him to unsheathe the Ebony Blade and to slip into a guard position, feeling the Mail awakening and starting to emit its poison spell directed at his enemy. He briefly considered the idea of launching himself into the tower and just make a run for the Sigil Stone, but his opponent was just too near: the first time he would have stopped to open a door, the battleaxe would be there, ready to split his head in two. Still, he had to finish this quickly, before the Siege Crawler could exit from the Gate or more Daedra had time to arrive…or both.

"Do you think the Ebony Blade can save you?"

Seriously, _fuck him_.

"Do you think that oversized battleaxe can compensate for _something else_?" he shouted back, in Daedric. Okay, that was a lame retort, but it was enough to surprise the Dremora (he suspected it was the Daedric part, not much his insult) and right now he would have resorted even to 'knock knock' jokes if it could give him an edge in his duel. He sprinted forward, trying to exploit the brief opening that he had just created…and being parried at the last second. Dammit. He quickly stepped to the side, as the battleaxe cut the air, this time without hitting the ground. Well, someone learned fast, after all. He slashed, trying, if he couldn't land a fatal blow, at least to incapacitate his opponent, and grimaced as the sword only managed to scratch the Daedric armour as its owner turned abruptly. Okay, this duel was proving to be definitely more difficult than he had expected, mainly because he was starting to feel quite tired from all the fighting and the running he had had to do before. He gritted his teeth, slashing again, and again and again, faster and faster, while circling his enemy. Normally, that was a risky strategy, but he had no other choice, and the poison still emanating from the Ebony Mail would surely help him. The Dremora parried the first three blows, before being squarely hit by the fourth one. He recoiled back for one instant, his arms rising, following his momentum backwards. It was all that Simhaud needed. He lunged forward, plunging the Blade into the Daedra's neck before he could lower his arms again.

"Checkmate, motherfucker."

He twisted the sword, enjoying for a second the expression of the Dremora before pulling away his weapon. He looked away, just to see the Siege Engine very near to the Gate and a few Daedra running his way, following the same path he had used to arrive to the Tower. Damn. He quickly turned around, opening the door and running inside the tower. He closed the entry before casting another spell on it, this time locking the mechanism. He had no time, and another fight like the one he had just concluded could spell defeat for him…and death for anyone else.

* * *

Martin almost couldn't feel his legs anymore: despite Simhaud's training, he was still a novice in wearing armour, and the weariness was starting to be a real problem, especially since enemies kept pouring out from the Gates. He quickly reached for a potion he had in his satchel, gulping down the refreshing liquid…bless alchemists and restore fatigue potions. He threw away the bottle as a Xivilai approached, his claymore drawn.

"Back to Oblivion with you!"

He could feel his magicka reserves dangerously low, so he only managed to cast a lighting spell, that at least hit the Daedra in front of him. The distraction allowed Baurus to strike, mercifully killing their opponent. Thanks the Divines Xivilai didn't use armour, or they would have much more trouble. Now he really understood why Simhaud had been so adamant about not giving up the Ebony Blade…

A battlecry behind him made Martin snap out of his thoughts, turning quickly to the source of the sound, his sword ready to (hopefully) block the attack. The Dremora, however, never managed to reach him, as one of the soldiers, who was wearing the cuirass with the emblem of Kvatch, threw himself to the enemy, engaging him in his stead.

"I'll deal with him, Emperor!" he shouted, before parrying a blow with his sword. Martin would have loved to answer, but yet another enemy approached him, forcing him to divert his attention. This time, however, no one was there to help him, and the Daedroth managed to hit him with his claw, even if he stepped aside at the last second. Well, at least he had avoided to be shredded like a sheet of paper, but the blow sent him to the ground, defenseless for some seconds. Damn, Simhaud made dodging look so effortless, but it was so difficult…He forced himself on his feet again, before the huge Daedra could succeed in killing him. Thankfully, a mage nearby had engaged the giant lizard, encasing his limbs in a prison of ice. Martin jumped forward, plunging his sword into the Daedroth's chest and receiving a stream of blood in his face. He removed his weapon, going backward, as the Altmer mage, wearing the uniform of the city of Bravil, approached him.

"Your Highness! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I managed to avoid the claws."

The conversation was cut short by yet another assailant, which he and the guard both engaged. The duel was cut short by a merciful intervention of Jauffre, who managed to cut the Dremora's head when she had been distracted enough by the guard's spells.

"Emperor! Are you alright?"

Once again, in a battlefield where everyone was risking death, their concern was for him. He knew it was normal, and partially his fault because he had insisted to be there instead of waiting by the sidelines, but couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about all that worry.

"Yes, I am." he answered, while Baurus engaged yet another enemy coming towards him, followed immediately by the Altmer guard.

"Your Highness, we can't resist for much longer, not when every seconds more of those things exit from the Gates!" said Jauffre, once they were left (relatively) alone. His words hit Martin hard, but he forced himself to not…

"**THE SIEGE ENGINE! IT'S EXITING FROM THE GATE!**"

He did not know who had just shouted, but it was indeed true: the spikes of the infernal machine had just begun to emerge from the Gate. He could feel his legs shake, but he gritted his teeth and refused to lose his demeanor. The Daedra roared as one, invigorated by the sign that meant a close victory for them, before advancing again, a new determination in their steps.

"Simhaud can close the Gate in time. I _know_ it." he said, a whisper lost into the cries of the battle.

* * *

Simhaud run like the wind, not bothering to stop if not for the few moments he needed to open the doors of the tower. Luckily for him, the Keep was almost devoid of Daedra (they were probably all pouring out the Gates), except some lone Daedroth or Storm atronach he had not difficult to slip past by.  
_  
You don't have much time.  
_  
He was almost out of breath when he reached the door of the Sigillum Sanguis, but he was determined to not stop, no matter how his lungs seemed on fire or how much his legs were begging for mercy. He opened it with a touch, and stepped into the dome, the light of the magma pillar illuminating his face. There it was, the Great Sigil Stone, glimmering with energy at the centre of the column of fire: he could feel it, even if he could not see it yet. He launched himself forward, climbing the stairs to the upper platform.

"Wha…**YOU FILTHY MORTAL!**"

Great. He did not bother neither to correct the Dremora mage (for obvious reasons) nor to dodge her fireball spell, which harmlessly hit him like a splash of warm water. The mage, seeing him perfectly unharmed and sprinting even faster towards her, put herself against the stone, charging a second spell in her hands. Simhaud did not let her cast it: he leaped forward, pushing the mage with all of his weight past the Stone and into the pillar of magma behind her. He could feel the stream of fire falling down on his head, like a waterfall of water…but the mage beneath him was not as lucky, her head and shoulders dissolving quickly, devoured by the flames so fast that she never had any chance to scream. He got up, shaking his head and seeing small drops of liquid fire fall on the ground.  
_  
The Stone._

He turned, putting his hands on the gigantic core of energy, and then pulled. Once again, the world swirled around him, in a maddening whirlwind of red, black and white.

* * *

Martin couldn't help but looking at the Siege Engine, crawling out of the Gate to kill them all. Now he could clearly see again the mouth of the infernal device, as he had in Kvatch before it had lightened with fire and...

"**YOUR HIGHNESS**! Be careful!"

Baurus' scream abruptly returned him back to reality, just in time for him to parry the blow of a Dremora swordsman. He was not as lucky with the second blow, who hit him squarely in the chest, cutting his armour and sending him to the ground, his face hitting the dirty snow beneath him. He could briefly hear someone shouting, and someone trying to pull him up before the Daedra could…

A terrifying explosion resonated into the air, and he immediately looked up, trying to locate its source. The Great Gate was the first to collapse, and the Siege Engine was next, the parts that had already emerged severed from the rest still in Oblivion. The loud thump of the machine falling to the ground was quickly followed by all the other Gates vanishing, leaving only burn marks on the ground and faint, energetic trace behind. The Daedra stopped, unsure of what had just happened…well, as did the soldiers, to be honest. No one knew what had just happened, except a few of them. Him? He knew Simhaud cold make it. He smiled, as Baurus finally managed to put him on his feet.

"My, what a wild party we have here. Did I lose something?"

The Daedra in front of them found himself a blade in his neck before he could move, and fell to the ground after it was removed. Behind him was Simhaud, a bloody Ebony Blade in his right hand and a gigantic Sigil Stone under his left arm. Martin smiled, suppressing the urge to hug the Nord to death. _**He knew Simhaud could do it!  
**_  
"I'm glad to see you are all alright. Hey, Baurus, mind holding this for me?" he said, a little grin on his face, while tossing the huge Stone to Baurus. By the time the Blade had managed to catch the artifact, Simhaud was on his side. The Emperor and the Hero exchanged a brief look, before the former nodded. He raised his sword to the sky, trying to let his voice be heard by everyone there…well, the battlefield was now almost silent, it was something he could do.

"**Soldiers of the Empire! **The infernal Gates are closed now, their machine broken…We have won today! **Let's send back to Oblivion these Daedra! **_**FOR BRUMA AND THE EMPIRE!**_"

There was a roar, coming from every soldier still alive on that battlefield, the roar of hope, the roar of mankind against the forces of Oblivion.

"**FOR BRUMA AND THE EMPIRE!**"

Martin himself could no longer feel his weariness, a new courage sustaining him where his muscles wanted to let him down. He supposed hope was as good as an alchemy potion, uh? Well, hope and the unstoppable force of nature that was now fighting at his side, he realised.

Simhaud and Martin were the first to launch themselves, sword drawn, towards the enemy, followed by every soldier still capable of holding a weapon. Soon it was the blood of the Daedra the one that soaked the snow, its blackness covering the red of the sacrifice of Bruma defenders.

* * *

_Soooo...We're officially in endgame territory now. Woho! Also, I should have known that saying 'Oh, I'm not sure if I can write much in this period' was exactly the trigger I needed to start writing. Yeeeah.  
Anyway, thanks to everyone for their support! And, as usual, comments are usually received with joy (and a not-so-dignified squee), so don't be timid!_


	13. Chapter 12

Three days had passed from the battle of Bruma, three days he was quite ashamed to admit he had spent pretty much doing nothing and sleeping. Well, doing nothing, sleeping and trying to control his emotional turmoil, now that he couldn't hope for the clamor of the battle to cover it. Had his actions in the past been the right choice? Were his mind and intentions still too human in nature, instead of the ones more fit for the Daedric Lord he had become? He hated to admit it, but Haskill was probably…no. No, he had to be there, now he was sure, but…He slightly shook his head: he had been stuck on that point for days, and had made no progress (unless you count as 'progress' the act of starting from one point and returning to it after a long way), so he really didn't see why he should have started again now, when he had a mission to do. Shutting away the world to concentrate on his current task had always been one of his strongest talents, and he fully intended to exploit that particular skill.

"I have everything in place for the ritual. I'll open the portal whenever you're ready."

Martin's voice was the signal for the mission to start, the curtain closing on his former thoughts. Right now there were only him, Martin and the items needed to open the portal to Camoran's paradise, finally.

"I don't know what you'll find in Camoran's Paradise. I do know the portal I will create through the Mysterium Xarxes ritual will close behind you…You'll have to find another way back."

He nodded, his brow automatically furrowing. No good news for him as usual, uh?

"I believe that Mankar Camoran acts as the 'anchor' for Paradise, just as a sigil stone anchors an Oblivion Gate in place. Kill him, and you will unmake his Paradise."

His frown immediately turned into a vicious grin, as his hand rested idly on the hilt of the Ebony Blade.

"I think I'm starting to like this mission. He will _pay_ for everything, this I promise you."

Martin probably didn't like his expression, but didn't say anything…after all, he had been there when the Daedra had swarmed Kvatch, killing everyone on their path: he could surely imagine why Simhaud was feeling so revengeful. The question of _why _he was really feeling so revengeful (was it for the trouble he had caused? For the lives lost? For putting him in a bad situation?), though, passed briefly in his mind, but the Nord was quick to bury it in the depths of his mind. Not the right moment for that, remember?

"Shall I open the portal to Paradise? Are you ready?"

Simhaud inspired deeply, before nodding.

"I am."

Martin nodded back, then directed his attention to the artifacts. Simhaud immediately felt power building into the room, concentrating in the middle of the circle of ruins drawn on the ground with the blood of two gods…and then exploding in a sphere of orange energy, like a ball of fire.

"Farewell, my friend. Our fate is in your hands…Bring back the Amulet of Kings. Brace yourself."

* * *

Paradise. Looking at the scenery around him, he had to admit that…

Suddenly he was on his knees, an intense wave of pain washing over him. A choked scream escaped his lips as he tried to understand what was going on, his mind slowed down by his current agony. Clutching his sides, he inspired, trying to clear his thoughts. He was being…_eaten alive_. Well, no, not really, but something was currently busy trying really hard to reach for his energy…wait. His avatar had no true energy to speak of, and in any case power being absorbed from it shouldn't had hurt so much. He realized, with a little bit of horror, that the thing was aiming at his _inner_ energy, his true power. The power of a Daedric Prince. Internally swearing, he clawed at the ground, trying to think a method to stop that agony. That place…it wasn't a true Oblivion plane, he realized. A real plane would have been stable, deeply connected to its Prince but independent from anything else. This 'Paradise', however…it was unstable, always in danger to dissolve, always hungry for energy. It must had sensed his power, leaking from the cracks of his doubts and his corrupt avatar, and it had metaphorically jumped on him, clawing and biting to reach for more. He bite his lower lips, concentrating on his body…and feeling the pain slowly fade away, as he let part of his energy out, free to flow in a continuous stream. Not an ideal solution, but at least the place wouldn't try anymore to dismember him to get his power. He wasn't really worried about that loss, he had plenty of power to spare, but the trail of Daedric energy he was now leaving behind him _could_ be a problem, had anyone smart or powerful enough felt it. _Just his usual luck_, he thought bitterly while getting up. Not even bothering removing the dirt now on his armour, he looked around for a second, before starting to walk on the stone path in front of him. Well, unless he wanted to lose himself in the woods with no idea whatsoever on which direction he was supposed to…

"So, the cat's-paw of the Septims arrives at last. You didn't think you could take me unaware, here of all places? In the Paradise that I created? Look now, upon my Paradise, Gaiar Alata, in the old tongue. A vision of the past... and the future."

Okay, **that place was so unbelievably annoying. **Now he even had someone speaking in his mind, and it wasn't himself! How disgraceful! But…he remembered that voice. The one speaking in his mind was none other than Mankar Camoran. Great. He scoffed, waiting for something along the lines of 'how low has the Prince of Madness fallen, being the lackey of the Septims' or, if the mortal was smart enough to know that you shouldn't provoke a Daedric Lord, 'so my opponent is a Daedric Prince. No wonder my plans were stopped'.

"Behold the Savage Garden, where my disciples are tempered for a higher destiny: to rule over Tamriel Reborn. If you are truly the hero of destiny, as I hope, the Garden will not hold you for long. Lift your eyes to Carac Agaialor, my seat at the pinnacle of Paradise. I shall await you there."

…Wait. _He hadn't noticed his aura. _Damn, he was pretty sure Martin would have, and this Camoran was supposed to be more expert regarding Daedric magic! He blinked a few times, before shrugging. Oh, well, he wasn't going to complain about his cover not being blown. So…he looked in front of him, finally distinguishing the shape of the palace Camoran mentioned. At least now he wasn't wandering around aimlessly anymore, uh?

* * *

"This place fucking sucks."

Sure, he had thought it pretty at first (not as pretty as the Isles, but still quite nice to look at), but he had quickly changed his mind after the first couple of people he had seen gruesomely devoured by a Daedroth. Fascinating. It was only later that he had managed to approach one of the place's dwellers, after rescuing it from the Atronach that was pursuing her, and trading the life he had just saved (well, not exactly. Those people were apparently immortal, so she would have been resurrected soon had he not intervened, but still…) for some information. Apparently, the only way to Carac Aga…Agaiag…_the damn place he was supposed to go…_was passing from a passage called Forbidden Grotto (not very promising), place that could only be accessed with the approval of a Dremora guard (_definitely _not promising)…guard that was now just ahead of him, in front of what he presumed was the Grotto in question. Oh, well, time to face the music now.

He walked forward, entering the field of vision of the Dremora…and, strangely enough, not being attacked on sight. Good, because he doubted he could obtain the approval of a corpse. The guard looked at him coming closer, almost…studying him. Uh oh.

"You are the one that destroyed the Sigil Tower at Ganonah."

Uh.

"That I am."

The Dremora looked at him intently for some seconds, then his face contorted in a vicious grin.

"Heh. I was wondering how could a simple mortal succeed in such feat. Now it's clear why."

He could feel the blood in his veins turning into ice…but he didn't let his expression falter. _Don't trap yourself with your own reaction, not when you're not sure whether you've been exposed or not._

"Oh?"

"You are definitely no mere mortal. And, judging by the fact that this place is continuously eating your energy and you're not dead yet…you would probably even outrank me."

Simhaud raised an eyebrow, still determined to not let his stoic façade falter.

"Never met a Dremora so civil."

"If you have been under the guise of a mortal until now I have no trouble believing that. Those pathetic things are not worthy of even the most pitiful Dremora in the Kyn…But there is no shame in recognizing a worthy opponent, which you clearly are."

He really wasn't sure whether to be happy to have avoided another close-range encounter with the Dremora's obnoxious attitude or panicking because his cover was seriously endangered. Well, at least he had not recognized him as a Prince.

"Very well. Now, I'm not really in the mood for beating around the bush, so let's just get straight to the point."

"Good. You seek entrance to the Forbidden Grotto, and I have the key to it."

Key? That meant that the 'approval' was a simple material object, and so the whole situation _could _have been resolved with old-fashioned murder? Nice to know when it was too late for it.

"And I suppose I will have to send you to Oblivion to get that, right?" he said, the slight hint of a sigh in his tone.

"That would be a way, yes. But not this time."

What?

"The Band of the Chosen is yours, fellow Daedra. You have fought well on the battlefield, and this is your reward."

Oh. Well, that was a good…Waaaait a moment.

"…And now you're just going to run to your superiors with the news about me, I guess."

The grin that appeared on the Daedra's face was the confirmation of his suspects, even before he heard the answer.

"It would be treachery of the worst kind to not do so. So, please hurry to destroy this realm, so I can return to the Deadlands as soon as possible."  
_  
Sonofabitch_. Being killed would have made returning to his plane more difficult than being severed from the contract of summoning that was probably binding him now. He considered the idea of murdering him on the spot, but renounced to it almost immediately. His cover was blown no matter what, and the few hours he could gain from killing him were not worth the effort...especially if reaching the palace had took more than those few hours. He grinned, grimly amused by the idea of having been tricked by a simple Dremora.

"Heh. Apparently you're a worthy opponent too."

The Dremora tilted his head for a second, acknowledging his phrase.

"It honors me to hear so. Now wear the Bands, or you won't be able to enter the Forbidden Grotto, just ahead of us after the Flooded one. There you will be the charge of my kynsman, Orthe."

He nodded as the guard snapped his fingers, causing two suspicious-looking bracers appear in front of him. He caught them the second they started to fall, and immediately recognized the enchantment on them. _Strong weakness to fire_, enough to severely block the enchantment of his boots. Once again, not a good sign. He grimaced, but proceeded to remove his gauntlets anyway, replacing them with the accursed things he had been given.

* * *

He was still busy trying to clean his face from the blood of a Spider Daedra he had killed after entering that so-called 'Flooded Grotto' (well, as usual his enemies had terrible taste in names) when Camoran's voice resounded again in his head. Damn, _not again_.

"How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon."

Sure, keep thinking that. He resisted the temptation to snort and instead kept walking, trying his best to ignore the ramble that followed.

"The Principalities have sparkled as gems in the black reaches of Oblivion since the First Morning. Many are their names and the names of their masters: the Coldharbour of Meridia, Peryite's Quagmire, the ten Moonshadows of Mephala, and... and Dawn's Beauty, the Princedom of Lorkhan... misnamed 'Tamriel' by deluded mortals."

Wait, what? He abruptly stopped on his tracks, incredulous. He had to forbid himself from responding to that phrase, and that was a pretty huge urge to suppress. Someone had clearly missed his 'Daedric 101' class…come on, at least don't mix up Meridia's and Molag Bal's domains, for crying out loud, they are sworn enemies! Damn, for someone that claimed to be such an expert on Daedric matters, he sure was ignorant. And let's not even talk about that crazy theory about 'Tamriel' (idiot. _Tamriel _was just a continent, if he had wanted to pick a place to be considered as a plane then he should have talked about **Nirn**, or maybe even Mundus).

"Yes, you understand now."

He didn't even have the strength to snark anymore.

"Tamriel is just one more Daedric realm of Oblivion, long since lost to its Prince when he was betrayed by those that served him. Lord Dagon cannot invade Tamriel, his birthright! He comes to liberate the Occupied Lands!"

Dear himself, he would find killing this guy _so pleasant…_damn, he was so stupid he couldn't even pick up on the irony of trying to teach Daedric matters (and being dramatically wrong, by the way) to a Daedric Prince. This wasn't even madness anymore…it was plain idiocy.

"Ask yourself! How is it that mighty gods die, yet the Daedra stand incorruptible? How is it that the Daedra forthrightly proclaim themselves to man, while the gods cower behind statues and the faithless words of traitor-priests? It is simple... they are not gods at all. The truth has been in front of you since you first were born: the Daedra are the true gods of this universe. Julianos, Dibella and Stendarr are all Lorkhan's betrayers, posing as divinities in a principality that has lost its guiding light. What are Scholarship, Love and Mercy when compared to Fate, Night and Destruction? The gods you worship are trifling shadows of First Causes. They have tricked you for Ages."

Well, he kinda liked the part about the Daedra being the true gods, but that was not the point. And he _did not _worship the Aedra, for crying out loud!

"Why do you think your world has always been contested ground, the arena of powers and immortals? It is Tamriel, the realm of Change, brother to Madness, sister to Deceit."

…and you are saying that to the God of said Madness. Really, he was really testing his resolution to not just shout back at him…damn, he was just starting to regret the fact that his cover hadn't been blown yet, it would have dramatically cut the amount of crap he was being subjected to. He started to walk again, hoping that entering the Grotto would make that mortal shut _the Oblivion _up.

"Your false gods could not entirely rewrite history. Thus you remember tales of Lorkhan, vilified, a dead trickster, whose heart came to Tamriel. But if a god can die, how does his heart survive? He is daedroth! TAMRIEL AE DAEDROTH! 'This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other.' You all remember this. It is in every legend. Daedra cannot die, so your so-called gods cannot erase him from your minds completely."  
**  
Someone's else **gods, thank you so much! Ahhh, he had had enough of that bullshit! He simply charged forward, violently pushing the doors in front of him open and launching himself inside.

* * *

The Forbidden Grotto…well, let's just say that it was _very _different from the rest of Paradise, and that the enchantment on the Bands was now making a lot of sense. He could smell sulphur just after a few steps in, and let's not talk about the heat! Lava. Definitely lava.

The sound of footsteps made him snap out from his observations, and he quickly leaped into a dark corner of the cave, crouching and hoping for both his stealth and the dark smoke created by the Mail to do their job. Just a few seconds later a robed figure, that from the height Simhaud identified as an Altmer, entered the cavern's entrance, stopping to look around him.

"You can show yourself. I'm not here to harm you."  
_  
You wouldn't be able to even if you tried_. Still…both the tone and the body language of the robed figure seemed to indicate that he was telling the truth. Simhaud grimaced, before exiting from the dark corner he had hidden into, with one hand ready to unsheathe the Ebony Blade. It took just a few instants for the smoke still around him to dissolve, and for the Altmer to notice him.

"_Ah! _Oh. Well…thank you for trusting me."

"Who are you and how did you know I was there."

Simhaud was definitely not in the mood for conversation, and the Altmer caught that very quickly.

"Well…I am Eldamil. I was sent here as a punishment, after…regretting my actions as one of Camoran's top lieutenants."

After a few seconds of silence, meaning that the phrase was over, Simhaud snorted.

"You didn't answer the second question."

"…Strangely enough, it was Kathutet who warned me. I suppose he wanted to contact his superior, but couldn't for some reason."

"Kathutet _who?_"

"Oh. The Dremora guard that gave you the Bands."

Oooh. _That sly bastard…_

"Anyway…if you really are the one who has come to stop Camoran's plans, then I'm here to help you."_  
_  
The Nord raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Why should I trust you? You said yourself that you were a big fish in the Mythic Dawn."

Eldamil sighed, before looking at him straight in the eyes.

"Mankar Camoran promised us a Paradise…and look at what we got. And still, the Savage Garden is _nothing _compared to what happens here, to the ones that earn in some way or another Camoran's wrath. I doubted him and what we had done to Tamriel, and I was sent here, to see my former brothers and sisters get tortured to death everyday, just to see them revive the next day for another round of punishment. Do you think it's a convincing motive for wanting that mer dead?"

He grinned…the guy had guts, there was no denying it.

"Yes, it is. But I don't think I will need help in fighting whatever lurks in this place, to be honest."

"I have no doubt about that…but there's something you can't do, and that's exiting from here."

Great, other problems. At this point, however, he was pretty resigned to the fact that his mission always had to be problematic, one way or another.

"Is this place some kind of maze, or…"

Eldamil smirked for a second.

"No, nothing like that. While it's impossible to enter the Forbidden Grotto if you are not wearing the Bands…No one wearing them can leave. The doors will not open, and there is no other way out."  
_  
Great_.

"I can remove them, but I will need time. The Dremora overseer will be here any minute to check up on me. I'm afraid you will need to play along until he leaves."  
_  
…Or not_, but he didn't say out loud.

"Fine, I'll play along…for now."

Eldamil nodded.

"Good. Follow me, and don't worry." he stopped, to smile at him "You can trust me."

The Altmer turned around and started to walk towards the inner parts of the Grotto. It was just a matter of minutes before Simhaud could understand the claim that the outside garden was _nothing _compared to what happened in the Grotto. If nothing, outside you could try to run or defend yourself in some way, but here? You were trapped in a metal cage and _dipped into the lava_, presumably kept alive during the painful process by some kind of magic…and he doubted that was the only kind of torture that took place there, it was probably just a way to waste time until a Dremora could come and finish the job. Damn, that really was something. He had saw many times, in the Oblivion gates he had visited, the victims of Dremora torture, but this was probably even worse, considering Camoran was a mortal like them…damn, he was even supposed to be _their leader_! What a piece of shit our little, moronic puppet of Dagon had turned out to be.

"Psst! The overseer…quick, pretend your hands are tied or something!"

Instinctively Simhaud stopped, a few steps behind Eldamil, swiftly hiding his hands behind his back. Who knew, maybe the plan would have worked.

"What's going on here? Who's this?"

Eldamil answered immediately.

"A prisoner, send here by…"

"Show me some respect, worm! Unless you want to end up in the cages with them."

Aww, he had _so _missed Dremora's attitude! Eldamil was about to answer again, when the Dremora's expression suddenly changed in one of surprise.

"Wait, you are…"

Oh, for the love of…he had forgotten about his energy leaking out! He leaped forward, unsheathing the Ebony Blade and beheading the Dremora with a wide swing before the Daedra could realize what had just happened.

"_What…_"

He turned, just to see Eldamil's bewildered expression. Well, at least he had managed to kill the Dremora before he could spill the beans.

"Don't worry about that…Let's just hurry and exit from here, shall we?"

"But it's _full _of Daedra ahead, and when they will discover that Orthe is dead they will be on us!"

Simhaud simply shrugged.

"Well, stay behind me, then. Come on, we don't have much time!"

* * *

"…there. You're not a prisoner of the Forbidden Grotto any longer."

The bracers fell on the ground, and Simhaud rubbed the area they had covered with a sigh.

"Thank you."

He retrieved his gauntlets, quickly putting them on again.

"Let me come with you…let me help you kill Mankar Camoran."

_What?_ He raised his head, looking at the Altmer.

"I'm not completely powerless…well, not that I think you couldn't do it alone, especially after…"

"…The Daedra I slaughtered some minutes ago?"

"…Yes. But at least I will provide another target for him to hit."

Simhaud was about to tell him no, but he stopped. That man clearly deserved revenge, after all.

"Fine. Let's…"

"Well done, champion! Your progress is swift and sure. Perhaps you will reach me after all."

_Here we are again._

"You think I mock you? Not at all. In your coming, I hear the footsteps of Fate. You are the last defender of decadent Tamriel. I am the midwife of the Mythic Dawn, Tamriel Reborn. I welcome you, if you truly are the agent of Fate. I tire of the self-styled heroes who set themselves in my path, only to prove unworthy in the event."

_Shut. __**Up.**_

"…Is everything alright?"

He snapped out from his thoughts, then looked towards Eldamil and shrugged.

"Oh, just Camoran babbling in my head _again_. Damn, I want to kill him _so much_."

Eldamil just nodded.

"I know. The guy never shuts up."

* * *

Being out again was a blessing, if nothing for the air that had stopped to smell like lava and charred meat. Also, the place was probably more stable around Mankar Camoran, and didn't feel the need to suck away his power anymore. Good, he thought while closing the gap he had left open before, effectively ending the dispersal of his power.

"Carac Agaialor is just ahead."

He nodded, while proceeding towards the Ayelid-looking palace at the end of the road, and stopping in front of a marble platform, where two robed figures were standing. So…what now? He shrugged, before going ahead to meet them, climbing the steps to the platform. Now that he was nearer, he could see that the two were Altmer, one female and one male.

"So here you are at last. The lackey of the Septim pretender. You still think you have a chance, don't you?"

It was the male that had spoken, but frankly he couldn't care less who had done that. However, this time he was **_not _**going to stay silent.

"**Yes**, I do. Do you think **_you_** can stop me? Please, don't be ridiculous…oh, wait, I remember you. You're the guy that got impaled by Baurus' sword in the sewers! And you…"

He turned to the female, before frowning.

"…Mmmmh no, I don't remember you."

The woman clearly took offense.

"**You little…**I am _Ruma Camoran_! The one that was leading the Mythic Dawn cult in our sanctuary!"

"Oooh…Now I remember! You were the one I killed with a single arrow. Damn, that was pathetic. At least your friend there put up a fight."_  
_  
The woman _definitely _took offence, and would have (tried to) jump on him had the other not restrained her.

"_Sister! _Do not let yourself to be provoked by this fool's words!"

He could hear Eldamil behind him cough, and Simhaud himself had trouble not laughing. Damn, that was almost worth the trouble he had getting there…_almost_. The male released his grip, before clearing his throat.

"_Ahem_… You should not keep my father waiting any longer. He expected you hours ago. Follow us, you came to see him, did you not?"

He then turned around, starting to walk towards the palace, and Ruma did the same, after shooting him an icy glare. Simhaud exchanged a quick glance with Eldamil, before shrugging and starting to follow the siblings.

Soon they were in, walking into the marble palace, the sound of their step resounding in the long corridor. They stopped for a moment, waiting for the siblings to open the gigantic doors in front of them…probably leading to the room Camoran was in.

"I have waited a long time for you, Champion of Old Tamriel."

Yup. They walked inside, just to be greeted by the sight of an Altmer sitting on a throne, the Amulet of Kings proudly around his neck. _Here you are_, _asshole._

"You are the last gasp of a dying age. You breathe the stale air of false hope. How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The walls between our worlds are crumbling. The Mythic Dawn grows nearer with every rift in the firmament. Soon, very soon, the lines now blurred will be erased. Tamriel and Oblivion rejoined! The Mythic Age reborn! Lord Dagon shall walk Tamriel again…The world shall be remade! The new age shall rise from the ashes of the old. My vision shall be realized. Weakness will be purged from the world, and mortal and immortal alike purified in the refiner's fire."

He got up from his throne, opening his arms as to point to everything around him.

"My long duel with the Septims is over, and I have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. And the last defender of the last ragged Septim stands before me, in the heart of my power. Let us see who at last has proved the stronger!"

"Oh, that's **_enough_**. Shut the fuck up."

The look on Mankar's face was priceless. He almost dropped his arms, looking at the Nord in front of him with a surprised expression.

"…Wait. What?"

"Are you deaf? I said. Shut. The fuck. Up. I'm tired of your rambling and I'm tired of the bullshit you have been saying until now. You think you know everything, and yet your ignorance is _so _painfully clear…Too bad you are too stupid to even begin to grasp it! You think yourself so powerful…but you couldn't even vaguely see what I really was, back in the Garden. Oh, just for the record, your _guards _understood immediately. And, most importantly…"

He unsheathed his sword, feeling its energy expand, magnified by his rage, and a poison cloud starting to form around him. He could feel also feel his own power, unleashed by his emotions, leaking in waves from his avatar, but at that point he did not care anymore.

"…call Martin _ragged _again, and I will show you the meaning of _agony_."

He evaded the lighting spell coming from behind him with deliberate ease, before extending his hands towards the female Altmer to cast a spell. If he was going to humiliate them, then he was going to be especially creative. The woman almost couldn't believe when her own hands reached for her dagger, only to plunge it into her own throat. Ah, command spells were _so _underrated…and so much _fun_.

"Told you you were useless." he said, smirking, while the Altmer male shouted his sister's name. A fireball hit him in his back (ah, so Camoran had finally managed to actually _do_ something. Good.), but his restored fire resistance negated the attack. He turned his head towards the Altmer, his grin growing even larger and more mocking seeing the shock on his enemy's face.

"I will fight Raven! Go for Mankar!"

He didn't need to be told twice. He leapt forward, rapidly closing the distance between them despite his opponent's attempt to retreat, a lighting spell missing him by a hair breadth…and realizing after being hit by a stray ray of electricity a few seconds later that it was a chain lightning spell, and he hadn't been the intended target anyway. Someone was learning, uh? Not that it would save him. He lunged forward again, unswayed by the spell, grabbing the Altmer's neck with his free hand and using his momentum to violently push his opponent and making him hit the wall just behind him. Camoran tried to electrocute him again, but Simhaud almost didn't feel anything, and in the end the Altmer had to drop it, his hands shaking too badly for the poison for him to use them. His grip on Camoran's neck tightened as he prepared the Ebony Blade for the blow…and he was hit from an ice lance coming from behind him. He sighed: apparently Eldamil wasn't a really good fighter…poor guy, he seemed like a surprisingly decent person for a Mythic Dawn ex-officer. He turned around, just to see Raven, gravely wounded, standing behind a Frost Atronach.

"Are you even _trying?_"

He sighed, before planting the sword into Camoran's chest and into the wall behind him (whops. He had put too much power and strength in that), but purposefully avoiding his vital points. Right now, he just needed a free hand... hand that he stretched, his magic extending like invisible tendrils around the Atronach. Just an instant, and the creature's will was his own, and it took even less for it to impale the last nuisance with the same ice lance spell that had tried to use on Simhaud. He turned, an unsettling grin on his face, basking in the glory of the terror of his opponent. He snapped his fingers, causing the poison cloud around him to dissolve. Camoran coughed for a second, gasping for untainted air.

"Just…what…_are you?!_"

Mankar was now more dead than alive, but he still had the strength to talk. Simhaud simply sighed.

"You _still _don't know, uh? Too bad."

"You…_you monster_."

His grin disappeared immediately, and his grip on the other's neck reflexively tightened.

"Coming from you, it's almost flattering."  
_  
But really, are you much better than him?_

The sudden thought cleared his mind from his rage, and his power silently retreated inside him now that his emotion weren't pushing it out anymore.  
_  
Oh, come on, I'm not __**that **__bad._

He grinned again, before pulling away the sword and stabbing Camoran's heart with a fluid movement.

* * *

Martin paced the room for probably the hundredth time in a few hours. He suspected half of the room wanted to do the same, while the other half would have loved to make him stop. Sorry everyone, that was not going to happen.

"Your Highness…please, calm down. Simhaud will be here soon."

He finally stopped, just to glare at Baurus.

"You said that an hour ago."

Jauffre cleared his throat before speaking.

"I find myself agreeing with Baurus, your Highness. Simhaud has clearly demonstrated his ability, and this mission is not much difficult than the last one."

He simply groaned.

"I know, I know!" he muttered, adjusting for probably the twentieth time the collar of Emperor regalia the Blades had insisted he wore. While it wasn't as bad as the armour he had to wear during the battle, it was still pretty uncomfortable…he really missed his simple gray robe. He was going to sigh, but an unusual peak of energy, coming from the centre of the room, immediately grabbed his attention. He quickly made two steps backwards, earning the quizzical look of the Blades there.

"Step away from there! Simhaud is going to appear soon!"

Immediately all the warriors snapped to attention and, following the quick nod of Jauffre, moved to position themselves around the circular space that had held the ritual. Soon the room was filled with an orange light, not unlike fire, that blinded him for a second and forced him to shut his eyes. When he opened them, Simhaud was at the center of the room, blood and dust on his black armour…and something in his left hand.

"Blades! Pay homage to the Emperor's champion!"

It was Jauffre that had spoken and, following that phrase, every Blade kneeled, their sword draw by their side, in a position usually reserved only for Emperors and the greatest heroes of Tamriel...which he kinda was, but still…Martin hadn't expect the Blade to honour the Nord that way and, judging by Simhaud's expression, neither did him. It didn't matter: he walked towards the warrior, a slight hint of a smile on his lips.

"You found a way back! Does this mean... ?"

The Nord simply nodded, after all no word were needed. Martin almost couldn't believe it…which was strange, because he had never doubted that Simhaud could do it.

"You did it. You defeated him. Then you have it... you have the Amulet of Kings?"

Simhaud simply smiled, and then kneeled, offering him the content of his hands…a shining pendant with a bright red gem at the centre of it. The moment felt so sacred he hadn't the heart to tell Simhaud to get up and not act so formal.

"Here. The Amulet belongs to you."

Mercifully the Nord got back on his feet the second Martin took the Amulet from him, a slight shake in his hands. The Imperial looked at the artifact in his hands with worry in his eyes, almost fearing that it would disappear any second.

"Belongs to me? The Amulet of Kings? So you and Jauffre have said. If it is true, if the Emperor really was my father, then I should be able to wear it. Only those of the Septim blood can wear the Amulet of Kings."

Simhaud simply grinned.

"Well then…put on the Amulet, your Majesty."

Your Majesty. Once again, the weight of his doubts tried to crush him. What if the Amulet had slipped off his neck, signaling that he really wasn't a Septim? He smiled, even if it was a nervous one. No, he believed Jauffre, and he believed Simhaud. He really was a Septim.

"Yes, of course. What am I waiting for? After all, this is my destiny. No man can deny his destiny."

He raised the Amulet, closing the necklace around his neck. Nothing happened, and his smile grew more triumphant.

"I didn't really need the Amulet to tell me that. I've known it was true since you first told me back in Kvatch. But it is one thing to talk of becoming Emperor, and quite another to actually be the Emperor."

Simhaud just nodded.

"So, now there's just one thing we need to do."

"You're right: until we light the Dragonfires, the Gates are open, and Mehrunes Dagon's invasion continues. In the last days I sent a messenger to High Chancellor Ocato. He waits for us in the Imperial City."

Uncertainty suddenly crossed the Nord's face.

"Why meet Ocato?"

He had not prepared an answer, but the words almost flowed out by themselves.

"Chancellor Ocato is the head of the Elder Council. The Council rules in the Emperor's absence. To be honest I don't expect any objections from the Elder Council, but we should defer to their authority."

Simhaud shrugged, his expression still unconvinced.

"Oh, well. We were going there anyway, I suppose."

The conversation was cut short by Jauffre…oh, the Blades had gotten up. He hadn't noticed.

"Your Highness, we should depart for the Imperial City at once. We will start the preparation immediately. It will probably take a few hours…enough for Simhaud to regain his forces after his mission, I hope. When we'll be ready, we will leave with a few Blades…while I am still concerned with your safety, we need to move quickly and not draw to much attention."

Both him and the Nord nodded.

"Good. May Akatosh guide us in our mission." he said, touching the Amulet as to invoke the ancient pact between the dragon god and mankind.

* * *

_Yet again, thanks to everyone who has commented, favorite and/or followed. Feel free to leave a comment!_


	14. Chapter 13

"It's strange, though."

Here we go again. Martin resisted the temptation to sigh, instead looking at the two Blades riding behind them and then the two in front of them, hoping to give the impression he hadn't heard what Baurus had said. It didn't work, obviously.

"I mean, I heard these roads were swarming with mountain lions and bears, but…"

Martin shook his head, not willing to enter in that conversation again.

"Apparently the gods are smiling on us."

Baurus looked at him for some instants, surprise and doubt clearly in his expression, before shrugging.

"I suppose you're right, your Highness."

No, he wasn't, but he really hope the gods would forgive him for that little lie.

"Baurus, how long before we can reach the Imperial City?"

The Redguard looked around him a few seconds, probably to search for something that could tell him where they were at the moment, then released the reins of his horse with a hand, pointing with it to a small village in the distance.

"Well, that's Aleswell, if I remember the name correctly. While we are not truly far from our destination, I doubt we will manage to reach the City before dark. We will probably reach Fort Empire and then stop for the night, unless Grandmaster Jauffre or Simhaud push for stopping before that point."

Martin looked at the village for some instants, before speaking again.

"I suppose we won't stop there, right?"

"That would be too risky, I'm afraid. There could be undercover cultists or, even if Aleswell is free, the enemy could attack us there, endangering the lives of the people living there."

The Imperial nodded, a little part of him wishing that he could sleep on a bed instead of the cold, hard ground of the forest.

"I understand."

He was about to ask something else when Jauffre, previously at the head of the group, lead his horse towards them.

"Your Highness, Simhaud found a good spot to stop for the night. We could still travel a few hours, but there's no guarantee we will find another one. Obviously, should we stop now, we will depart at the first lights tomorrow to regain the time we lost here."

He was asking for his opinion, Martin realized. Well…to be honest, he was beginning to feel exhausted, and the idea of stopping _had _its appeal.

"I suppose it's a good idea. After all, it's almost summer, dawn will come pretty soon…as will dusk. There's no point in going on for an hour or so just to be forced to stop anyway."

Jauffre nodded.

"Very well. We will begin to set camp immediately."

* * *

"So…did that gullible fool _really_ fell for that trick?"

Azura simply smiled, a (falsely) innocent expression on her face. Damn, there were times where he had wanted to strangle her for her holier-than-thou attitude, but he couldn't help but lo…_admire _the ruthless side of the Prince of Dawn and Dusk. Molag Bal laughed and was about to answer, when a voice scraped the back of his mind.

"Molag….MOLAG!"

He hissed…_not right now, dammit_!

"Damn."

Azura's smile quickly vanished, having clearly heard the curse he had muttered under his breath.

"Is something wrong, Bal?"

"Sheogorath's trying to contact me."

She immediately frowned, before getting up from the chair she was sitting on and going nearer to the Prince of Domination, effectively joining the conversation.

"Lord Sheogorath? Is everything alright?"

The voice from the other side had a moment of surprise.

"Azura..? I wasn't expecting you to be there. Oh, nevermind. We have a problem."

Molag Bal groaned.

"Oh, great, how did you managed to screw…OUCH!" he shouted, as Azura elbowed him in the guts.

"BAL!"

Sheogorath hadn't seemingly payed attention to the exchange, however, and spoke again.

"I hadn't much choice, sadly. It's a long story and I won't annoy you with the details, so let's just get to the point."

If the God of Madness had decided to drop his usual act and speaking like a sensible person for once then the situation was definitely shitty. _Just great_.

"It's just a matter of time before Dagon knows I'm a Daedra."

Molag Bal muttered another curse under his breath, before mind-talking again.

"_Dammit, _Sheogorath! Does he know you are…you?"

"No, as far as I know they…long story, as I said…couldn't recognize me. They know I'm not a mortal…but not much more. Unless they were dissimulating, but I don't think that's the case."

Well, it could have been worse, if Sheogorath was right (and, to be honest, he usually was. He might have been a crazy Daedra, but he was a crazy Daedra skilled at reading people). Still…

"Azura, contact Mephala or whoever you want. We must…"

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

Molag and Azura both blinked, surprised for a second by the security into that last phrase. Still…there was something _false_ about that tone, Molag Bal thought. Sheogorath wasn't being sincere…and he wondered if Azura had picked up that too.

"Come on, you know I always have three backup plans after the main one, just to follow one I made up on the spot. Don't worry, Bal, I have everything under control."

No, he hadn't, or he wouldn't have contacted him, now he was sure. However, there was no point in pointing that out, the Prince of Madness would have simply denied it.

"If you say so."

"Still…maybe you _should_ warn the others. This masquerade is going to end soon, one way or another."

Azura nodded.

"I'll go immediately." she said, before disappearing into a pinkish light…probably to Moonshadow. Well, then, now that they were alone, maybe a certain Daedra would be more likely to speak…

"You know you're easier to read than the old one, right, Sheogorath?"

Silence.

"I_ know_ you aren't so sure about your plan…whatever this plan of yours is, for whatever reason."

There was a low laugh from the other side. _Bingo_.

"Maybe. If Dagon decide to haul his ass into the fray…well, then the whole matter is going to get a lot more _complicated_."

Molag simply nodded…before realizing that the gesture was useless, since Sheogorath couldn't see him. _Damn._

"So…I'm going, now. I'll see you in the Isles when I'll return."

"Hey, Sheogorath."

He was silent for a second, trying to find something to say.

"Good luck."

He never knew whether the Madgod had answered or not, as the connection between them was suddenly severed.

"…Well, _damn_."

He really hoped nothing serious had just happened.

* * *

"Simhaud?"

The Nord winced, clearly surprised by Martin's voice. Really, he would have _payed _to see what was going on in his head.

"Sorry. I…I think I've lost the thread of my thoughts."

He looked so…worried. He wasn't so sure anymore the idea of talking with him was a good one…perhaps he wanted to be left alone.

"Ah. Sorry…I didn't mean to…"

Simhaud shook his head.

"It's okay, it's okay. Is something the matter?"

He didn't turn him away, and his tone was definitely warm. Martin shook his head too, before sitting beside the Nord.

"Not exactly. It just seems…so irreal. All that time trying to get back the Amulet…and now we have it. Call me paranoid, but I am fearing it's going to disappear any second now."

Simhaud chuckled, before looking up at the darkening sky. They had made camp and had some kind of dinner (courtesy of both their provisions and Simhaud's hunting skills) and, even if they were supposed to be resting now, apparently no one of them could close their eyes to slip into unconsciousness. So they were, sitting around the remains of what had been a fire, almost whispering to each other to not wake up everyone else…and maybe to not being heard by the Blade currently guarding the camp.

"I think it's pretty normal. I have…trouble too. Reminding myself that's all almost over."

There were a few instants of silence between them, before Martin spoke again.

"And then…there's an Empire I'm supposed to lead. It's almost unbelievable how fast I can slip from a confident attitude to an utterly _terrified_ one."

Martin sighed, perfectly aware that he had just slipped into the 'terrified' phase.

"Well, at least…" the Nord raised his eyebrows, with a grin spreading on his face "…you won't be a murderous asshole like a lot of the Septims."

Martin smiled, more to answer to the jest than for genuine amusement.

"I really hope not!"

Another silence, where Simhaud proceeded to look back at the sky. If the conversation was going to grow awkward no matter what they said, then he would not hold back.

"Hey, Simhaud. Can I ask you a question?"

The Nord turned his head to look at him, his piercing blue eyes studying his face. His expression was now serious, no trace of the previous jest left.

"Of course you can, but I don't guarantee an answer."

As he had feared…well, it was not like he could turn back, now. He sighed, trying to gather the courage for his question.

"…What are _you _going to do after this is all over?"

"I will return home, of course."

…Which told him nothing and everything. Clearly that was an answer Simhaud didn't want to give, so, instead of asking the whereabouts of this 'home' of his, he tried another road.

"Oh? I was hoping to have you around for a while, after all of this had ended."

Simhaud expression immediately darkened…ouch, wrong phrase. Martin's mind raced, trying to find something to say to mend whatever damage he had done, but the Nord spoke first.

"I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. And…"

He sighed, clearly thorn between speaking again and just dropping the phrase he had started.

"…I'll be honest. Depending on how things unfold, you probably _won't_ want me around. Well…no, you shouldn't want me around no matter what happens, let's face it."

The Imperial blinked a few times, confused by the meaning of that phrase. Did he meant he was some kind of criminal? He had said he wasn't part of the Dark Brotherhood (and Martin believed him), but there were a lot of other possibilities, from a thief to some kind of independent assassin.

"I…don't think I'm following you."

Simhaud shook his head, his eyes looking at nothing in particular.

"Obviously."  
_  
Obviously_? What was that supposed to mean?! It was like…he was implying Martin couldn't possibly comprehend what was going on. Which…had some kind of sense, okay, but…

"Hey, Martin."

To his surprise, Simhaud had spoken first…but his tone was full of hesitation.

"I want to…well, it's not easy."

He clearly was extremely conflicted. Martin couldn't help but think of that time when the situation had been reversed, and it had been him the uncertain one, the one needing one sympathetic ear to listen. He wasn't sure he could do much, but he would do whatever he could for Simhaud.

"It's okay, I'm listening."

Simhaud turned his head to look at him, before studying the expression on the Imperial's face for some seconds. Just as Martin had started to wonder whether the Nord was going to refuse his offer, the latter turned away, before speaking again.

"There's a lot I can't tell, as you probably have noticed. If things go bad…I want you to know that I really wanted to help you. My motivations…well, you probably wouldn't have liked them …but I still wanted to help, in some way."

He sighed.

"I've changed during these weeks. I'm…not sure this is a good thing."

Martin stayed silent for a few instants, trying to understand what he was being told…what he was _really _being told.

"Well…you were pretty scary when I met you."

"If you ask the Dremora, I still am."

He could detect a point of sarcasm in that phrase, but he decided to ignore it.

"Right. But…yes, you have changed. You were…more like a slavine, or a snow storm. Impressive, unstoppable, unbelievably cold and inscrutable. Now…well, I don't claim to know you, but you're more…more…"

He stopped to look in the distance, trying to find the right world.

"…Human."

It was Simhaud that had answered, his voice barely audible. Martin immediately turned his head to look at his friend and at his almost ashen face.

"…Yes, exactly."

Simhaud grimaced, passing an hand on his face.

"That's the problem. I _shouldn't_ try to be more human. I shouldn't form bonds with you, or with Baurus, or anyone else. And yet…here I am, considering you, Baurus, the Blades…more than I should."

That…just didn't make sense, even thinking in the most cynical way he could manage to. He wasn't saying that he couldn't kill anymore, fact that would definitely hinder a warrior, but just that he cared for his allies. Was that so terrible?

"I…don't think I can understand. How can trying to be more humane be a bad thing?" he paused, deciding whether adding a last phrase or not. Oh, damn, he would throw caution to the wind.

"Unless you plan to sell us to the best buyer, which in that case _would _be a problem." he added in the end, but in a tone that made clear that he wasn't really considering that option a reality. Simhaud snapped out of his foul mood to flash him a grin.

"Sell you…? _To Dagon or his lackeys_? No, thank you."

…grin that lasted very little, as his face returned dead serious.

"For you it isn't…a bad thing, I mean. For me…well, the situation is quite different."

He shook his head, diverting his gaze.

"I'm sorry. I can't elaborate more on this point."

Of course he didn't. Martin sighed, passing an hand through his hair.

"There's _a lot _you can't elaborate more on, if you ask me."

Simhaud simply stayed silent for a while, before something he really hadn't expected…_a smile_…appeared on his lips.

"Well then…if after all of this is over you still want to see me, follow the trail. I'm sure the Blades _have _found the right track by now…even if they think it's not. So…if you are so keen on knowing, you just have to search."

What. Why not simply tell him? Why all that mysteries if he was so sure he could arrive to the truth anyway?!

"And…you would be fine with that? With me knowing whatever you are so intent in guarding right now?"

"You know…'_right now_' is the key world."

He didn't elaborate further, instead raising his head to watch the raising Masser.

"I think we should try to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, Martin."

* * *

They had arrived to the Imperial City in the early morning, and had headed straight for the White-Gold Tower. Good, because another second wasted and Simhaud was certain he would have lost it. He had felt, since they had departed from their night stop, so…uneasy, and yet he hesitated to say that out loud. He had…a lot on his mind, and, to be honest, he had risked to fall off his stead many times, but the sensation he had felt after entering the City was worse than everything else. He really hoped he was being paranoid…He shook his head, barely listening to the words of Chancellor Ocato. Why he was feeling so…terrible? He felt like he wanted to throw out whatever he had eaten when they had departed, hours before.

"Martin Septim, on behalf of the Elder Council, I accept your claim to the Imperial Throne. We should arrange the coronation ceremony as soon as ..."

The door of the Council Room opened violently and a frantic guard entered, his sword still drawn. Simhaud knew what had happened even before the guy spoke, and that alone nearly made him lose his battle with his nausea. Cursing in his mind, he rushed to the side of Martin, his hand ready to unsheathe the Ebony Blade.

"Chancellor Ocato! The city is under attack! Oblivion Gates have opened, and Daedra are inside the walls! The guard is overwhelmed!"

Ocato, oblivious to the shit that was about to hit them any minute now, tried to reassure the guard.

"Courage, soldier. We have an Emperor again."

He turned towards Martin.

"Your Highness, what are your orders? Shall the Guard fall back to the Palace?"

"No. If we let ourselves get besieged in the Palace we're doomed. We must get to the Temple of the One immediately."

At least Martin had his priorities straight. He barely heard Ocato barking some orders to the guards present as he readied his sword and started to follow Martin.

"Mehrunes Dagon knows that if I can reach the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires, he has lost. Come on!"

Had Martin spoke to him? He didn't know. He was feeling…terrible, and now he knew at least part of that was due to the Daedric magic in the air. Damn, how could he not sense it in advance? Had he been too distracted to notice the metaphorical arrow flying towards them until it had hit? He winced as a hot spurt of black blood hit him in the face, making him realize that he had just killed some Dremora. Oh, great…well, at least his body was proving to be better than his head at keeping him alive.

"The Palace is cut off, sire. We were the last to make it through from the Legion Compound. My men and I are at your disposal. What are your orders?"

Other guards had joined…which was good, because, now that he was concentrated on his surroundings instead of his thoughts, he could spot a lot of those damned Gates…and of course the Daedra pouring out of them. He grimaced, realizing that they were now effectively blocking them in front of the Tower.

"I need to get to the Temple of the One. It's our only chance to stop Mehrunes Dagon."

"Yes sir! Let's move out!"

Martin shouted again, offering to the soldier around him the same confidence he had in the battle of Bruma.

"Follow me! The Temple is our only hope!"

And Simhaud followed, cutting down as many Daedra his blade could reach, never allowing them to get near to the Emperor.

It was when they had finally managed to break the siege and to advance towards the door to the Temple District that he felt it. It was like…the very fabric of reality around him had just been brutally ripped with a large, unnecessary explosion, and he had trouble not falling to his knees, clutching his head in the vain effort to stop it from spinning. His stomach, however, was not as lucky, as he hunched forward and emptied whatever little contents it still had inside on the ground. At that point, he didn't care anymore, and he seriously doubted anyone else did. He raised his head, wiping away spit and vomit from his mouth with the back of his free hand, just to see the last thing he wanted to see in that moment.

Mehrunes fucking Dagon, in all his unholy glory, had definitely decided to haul his huge Daedric ass on the battlefield.

"We're too late…Mehrunes Dagon is here! Lighting the Dragonfires will no longer save us…the barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone…"

Martin's voice barely reached him. He had been such an utter, complete fool. He knew the danger. He knew Dagon was about to make a move (or at least, heavily suspected it). And yet…what he had done to prevent that situation, other than a few remarks that had obviously flown over the head of everyone present? Nothing. Martin couldn't know what was about to happen, but he _did_. Nothing, nothing could excuse him. He should have actively pushed for them to go and light the Dragonfires as soon as humanly possible, instead of basking in the increasingly unlikely possibility that everything would go as planned, that he would be able to quietly disappear with everyone still considering him an ally…or a friend.

He gritted his teeth. He just couldn't give up now…heh, that phrase and the sense of dread that accompanied it was starting to become familiar.

"Martin, there must something we can do. Look, if we can somehow banish Dagon…"

He was about to throw a deliberate vague comment about protonymics and neonymics, when Martin opened his mouth, clearly struck with an idea.

"Wait. Yes. The Amulet was given to mortals by Akatosh…it contains His divine power…But how to use this power against Dagon? The Amulet was not intended as a weapon…"

Wait, that was not the direction he wanted to push him. He stared at him in horror, unable to stop what he had unwittingly started while the expression of the Imperial turned to a grim and…strangely _confident _one.

"…I have an idea. One last hope. I must reach the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One."

He couldn't possibly mean…_that_? How did he know…? No, better: did he know that he was going to die, had he foolishly attempted to go on with his plan?  
_  
That's the perfect opportunity for you. He sacrifices himself, so you don't have to act, and in the midst of combat you disappear. In short…the plan goes on as nothing has ever happened.  
_  
Yes, that was true, but…that meant willingly watch, without acting, everything destroy itself _again_, and this time without being able to claim innocence through ignorance or impotence. That meant sending Martin to his death and live his immortal existence knowing that he deliberately chose to not save him.  
_  
You shouldn't care. He's just another mortal! He will be gone soon enough anyway._

"Simhaud! We need to go!"

He flinched, Martin's shout shaking him out of his messy thoughts. He had to decide…_fast_. He nodded, and was about to follow the Emperor when he noticed something he should have seen long before that instant. He shouted, pushing Martin out of the arrow's path, shot by a nearby Dremora archer…and getting hit instead, the projectile hitting the exposed part of his neck instead of the intended head of the Imperial next to him in a sick twist of fate. He choked for an instant, pain and blood flowing out from his wound. He vaguely heard Martin shout, far as if in a dream. Time slowed, probably due to his rush of adrenaline, and almost stopped…  
_  
You just got the excuse you needed. Aren't you happy?_

Everything he had experienced in those weeks darted in his mind, all the moments, the conversations, the hardships he had endured, the obstacles he had bested…all for what? To see Martin die that day? Was he happy? **Damn no****_, he wasn't!_****  
**  
He closed his eyes as he allowed his true power to break the restraints of his worn avatar, flowing outside as the unstoppable tide it was, while a little portion of it started buzzing against the arrow sticking from his neck. Good, now that he wasn't dying anymore…He simply raised his left hand and got a hold of the projectile, then simply proceeded to remove it with a fluid gesture before throwing it away, already feeling the wound close itself. He turned around, the hint of a smile on his lips. Martin had stepped back, no doubt now aware of what was in front of him, and the Blades had slipped into a guard position…probably against him.

Oh, well.

He smirked, raising one hand before a long staff, with three madly gaping faces on it, materialized out of thin air into it. He quickly closed his fist around the artifact, its familiar texture a blessing against his hand. _Ah, the Wabbajack…he had missed it so much_. His smirk turned into a full grin as he slammed the bottom of the staff on the ground, causing a green and gold flame to appear and wrap around him. He opened his arms wide, as the equipment he was wearing was 'consumed' (well…actually, they were sent back to their owner, but that was not the point), leaving back the purple and gold regalia that the Madgod had worn and now continued to. He finally opened his eyes…probably returned to their original black and blue (well, not that he could see them, anyway. He was just presuming)…just to see the terrified expression of the small crowd around him…and more than a few Dremora running away. Smart ones. He lifted his head for a second, just to see Dagon looking at their direction, a scowl clearly present on his face. Well, at least he was intelligent enough to see the mammoth in the room.

Martin made a step towards him, even with fear clearly in his eyes. He was pretty sure his form was still mostly the same, but, by now, the fact that he wasn't human was (or should have been) abundantly clear to everyone present…especially Martin himself, considering his exceptional sensitivity to Daedric magic.

"…Simhaud?"

Sim…_Sheogorath_ clicked his tongue before shaking slowly his head, a polite smile on his lips.

"Simhaud? Oh, I'm afraid that name is no longer appropriate. You can call me _Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness_! Charmed." he said, with a little bow closing his presentation. 

* * *

_I swear, I'm not dead! This last month has been...pretty much dreadful, and that didn't really help me writing. Plus, I really didn't want to post until I was reasonably near to finish chapter 14, because leaving everyone with a cliffhanger for who knows how long is definitely a shitty move (and rushing to write is even shittier). But now the next chapter is almost done, so why not post this right now?  
As usual, thanks to everyone who favorited, commented or just followed...it was a light in the dark tunnel of exams (college/university students from all the world, unite!)._

_Well, stay tuned for the last chapters of this story, then!_


	15. Chapter 14

His mind was feeling so…clear, now, so calm and peaceful. All his fears had already come true, so why keep worrying? He looked at Martin's ashen face: he had to admit, he was taking the situation relatively well (he hadn't fainted or started screaming, after all). The Blades behind, on the other hand, were absolutely _terrified_. He couldn't really blame them, to be honest: they had their only hope in front of them, dangerously near to a Daedric Prince that had popped out from nowhere for who knows what reason. He sighed, turning his head to look at Dagon…who was still, clearly waiting for him to make a move, now that Martin wasn't the largest threat anymore.

Oh, everything was ready. Without further ado, he briefly raised the Wabbajack again, just to slam it on the ground (well, he really didn't need to, but he had a newfound urge to act as flashily as Daedrically possible). Suddenly two other portals, these shimmering one with purple and the other with copper-gold instead of red, opened in front of him, and the first Aureal and Mazken started to pour out. Telepathic connection with your Daedra minions is always a nice thing to have when you don't have much time to prepare your army with traditional means. He nodded as the Autkendo and the Pelaurig stepped forward, curtly bowing to him.

"Lord Sheogorath! Ready to serve."

He briefly looked behind him, just to make sure that the increasingly terrified soldiers weren't about to do something stupid like trying to shoot them with arrows (or worse, charging with melee attacks)...nope, everything was fine, the only thing worth of notice was that Martin had walked backward, going nearer to his guards. Good. He raised his arms, as even more Saints and Seducers exited from the gate.

"**Autkendo, Pelaurig**! Take your best warriors and protect the Emperor at all costs! He needs to arrive to the Temple of the One safely."

No one really expected that move…except him and his soldiers, obviously, but he needed to make his intentions clear to everyone. He could clearly imagine the reactions of the mortals behind him…surprise, a_lot _of surprise, distrust, maybe hope? Not that it really did matter. He raised the Wabbajack, roaring his next order.

"**Aureals, Mazken!** Show this pathetic Deadland spawn what a **real** warrior looks like!"

The roar that followed reminded him of the one during the last moment of the battle for Bruma…but it was also really, really different. This wasn't the roar of hope, a roar of an army that had thought until that moment that their battle was lost…this was the roar of soldiers who _knew _they could win.

"**FOR LORD SHEOGORATH!**"

He looked, with a vague smile, as his soldiers rushed into the street, starting to engage the nearest enemies, before turning back to face the Blades…and the Emperor.

"Autkendo, Pelaurig. I don't think I need to say this, but defend the Emperor like you would defend me. Even accept orders from him, if necessary."

The high commanders just nodded, as six Daedra (the best warrior he had requested earlier, he assumed) approached them, their weapon ready.

"As you wish, my Lord."

He nodded, before looking one last time towards Dagon and starting to walk in that direction.

"**WAIT!**"

He stopped, the familiar voice darting through the air. Martin really had guts, he had to admit. He turned, none of inner his approval showing on his face, raising an eyebrow. The Imperial immediately stumbled back, clearly not expecting a reaction from the Prince, but he regained his composure pretty quickly.

"What…what are you going to do?!"

He smirked.

"Me? Just a little _friendly_ chat with Dagon. I know you really wanted to become an avatar of Akatosh, Emperor, but trust me, Tamriel will need you more _alive_. Maybe next time, mh?"

He was about to turn and start walking again, when he remembered something.

"Oh, and you'd better accept Autkendo Jansa and Pelaurig Zudeh's protection. The City is _swarming _with Daedra that want your head, and I remind you that if I wanted you dead you would already be."

No more objections? Good. He turned, starting to walk towards Dagon. Now he had a _mission _to finish.

* * *

Martin felt like he had been hit in the head with a massive weapon, coupled with a starting headache. He was sure that, if he had started to analyze the situation, he would have fallen to the ground, clutching his head in the vain effort to not make it explode. Right now, however? He felt nothing, like all that situation was some kind of dream. Who knew, maybe it _was_.

"Emperor…what are your orders, now? Can we really trust…"

Jauffre's word caught his attention enough to making his thoughts stop. Dream or not, he had to act.

"You heard him. If he wanted me dead, I would not be standing here. But I don't see the point in reaching the Temple when there is a…" a sudden wave of pain crossed across his head, probably the result of remembering what had seemingly just happened "…there are _two _Daedric Princes here. I can't close the barrier unless…"

"Don't doubt, Emperor. Lord Sheogorath's might can easily crush Mehrunes Dagon."

He raised his head, looking at the tall, golden Daedra that had just spoken, trying to understand what she was implying with that comment. The other next to her, a dark beauty, briefly nodded with her head.

"As our Lord commands, we're here to escort you. Just give the order."

A dream. He just had to keep pretending everything was inside his head, a shameful daydream about the worst case scenario…with some extra craziness into it because of his weariness and stress. He raised a fist, turning to face the men behind him. He just had to keep pretending…just a little longer.

"**SOLDIERS! TO THE TEMPLE!**"

* * *

"What the _fuck_ is he doing?!"

Boethiah seemed about to lose his cool, his hands dangerously near to tear his hair away… yes, he was in a male form again. Bal simply smirked, enjoying every second of his arch-enemy's confusion and silently thanking Sheogorath for the opportunity.

"Showing off, of course." he added, with the smuggest tone he managed to get.

"But…that's just…"

Azura interjected, probably to stop Molag Bal from replying with another condescending comment. Dammit, Azura, he was just starting to have fun.

"Insane, Boethiah? Because I remind you, it's _Sheogorath_ we're talking about."

"But…_the plan…_!"

Oh, that was comedy gold. He had to try his best not to laugh (and he avoided that just because Azura was already starting to glare at him), while Nocturnal sighed and interrupted the Prince of Treachery.

"If I am right, and for once I don't claim to be certain of it, our Madgod is about to humiliate Dagon in front of every mortal available…Sounds good to me as a deterrent for future actions."

"Yes, but…_my plot_! My perfect plot!"

Mephala, of all people, rolled her eyes before returning her attention on what was happening in the City.

"Oh, quit whining. We will get what we wanted, and an entertaining show to booth."

He couldn't agree more. He smirked, before returning his attention to the Imperial City. An entertaining show indeed, knowing Sheogorath.

* * *

Damn, Dagon must had been really desperate to rush the final attack like this. He sighed, killing without paying too much attention a Dremora that hadn't been fast enough to run away from him. After all, his attention was reserved for the huge shape of the Daedric Prince in front of him, nearer with every step he took. Then, after a turn, he was in front of him. He smirked, plans already forming in his head as he kept walking forward.

"**THERE YOU ARE, YOU PATHETIC FILTH! TIRED OF HIDING?**"

Indoor voice, Dagon. Indoor voice…oh, wait, they were outside. Nevermind. He stopped in front of his massive opponent, a bored expression on his face.

"Hiding? Really? Come on, don't blame on me your own stupidity. You should have realized who I was ages ago." he said, ending the phrase with a yawn. He really would have preferred that the Daedra currently invading Tamriel had been Bal (who basically was the only other one who would have attempted something like this) to be honest: at least the Prince of Domination had a tongue sharp enough to make interesting their hypothetic verbal spar…Dagon, on the other hand, was terrifyingly _dull _and _predictable. _Well, maybe not as dull and predictable as Jyggalag, true, but…

"**YOU VERMIN! YOU WILL REGRET CROSSING ME!**"

Great, not only he had interrupted his thoughts, but he had interrupted his thoughts just to sputter a generic insult that lacked even a faint trace of wit and originality. In other words…_boring_.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Oh, wait, where I have already heard that…"

He tilted his head, pretending to be deep in thought. Predictably that was the moment Dagon decided to try and chop him in half with one of his oversized axes…threat that he evaded quite easily by sidestepping a bit. He sighed, leaning on the metal of the weapon.

"Really, Dagon? That's the best you can do?"

"**YOU! YOU FILTHY…MORTAL!**"

* * *

There was a collective gasp between the assembled Daedra.

"What an idiot." muttered Sanguine, uncorking yet another bottle of…oh, not wine. Whiskey. Hircine laughed, a predatory grin on his face.

"I didn't realize he was _so _stupid. Does he really want to be butchered that much?"

Meridia blinked a few times, probably still shocked, before slowly shaking her head.

"I'm afraid not, he's just a complete twit. He's just spouting the first insults he can come up with like a mortal child."

"A particularly moronic one, I might add."

Everyone turned to look in the direction of Azura with a surprised expression.

"Oh, come on, it's the truth." she added, with a shrug. Well, if even the Prince of Dawn feels the need to insult you, you know you really deserve it.

* * *

Sheogorath simply raised an eyebrow.

"Really, Dagon? **Really?** _That's the best insult you can come up with?_"

He tilted his head back, starting to laugh like the madman he was. Oh, it was _so funny_…so funny that his enemy, someone so stupid and oblivious, could nail his problem with an half-assed insult. This time he didn't even bother to dodge when the other axe came down on it, simply raising one hand to block the oversized weapon. As he had learned the hard way during his duel with Jyggalag, battling a Prince was a matter of power and strategy alone, not which blade was sharper or bigger. He smirked, ignoring the sensation of the weapon's edge cutting his hand and the effort needed to stop it from going further.

"You think you have dominion over Mundus, right, _oh mighty Prince of Change? _Let me tell you a secret…"

His falsely sweet tone immediately faded, as his voice resounded loud and clear, for all the City to hear.

"**I am the master of Chaos and Madness! You and this world would be ****_nothing_** **without me.****_ And I don't appreciate someone else meddling with my own pawns."  
_**  
He grinned ferociously, as he proceeded to hit the axe with the Wabbajack, still firmly held in his other hand…and laughing madly as the weapon exploded in a shower of books and golden septims.

"**You wanted trouble, Dagon? WELL, YOU FOUND IT!**" he shouted, dragging his bloody palm across his right cheek, leaving behind a crimson streak.

* * *

"You really are a magnet for trouble, you know that, right?!"

Methredhel wisely didn't answer, concentrating instead in putting an arrow in the head of the clannfear that had decided to charge at them.

"We can't hold them forever! Where are all the guards when we need them, for once?!" she shouted, nocking another arrow and aiming to yet another Daedra.

Armand didn't answer at first, too busy to defend himself from the assault of a pack of scamps with his mace.

"Probably dead, or where the fight is the thickest." he said, a few arrows and broken skulls later.

"_What do you mean where the fight is the thickest?! _Those Daedra are everywhere here!"

"I know! But around…around…_the Temple District _…there must be even more, and more powerful. I doubt his force consist in only scamps and minor Daedra."

The Bosmer and the Redguard looked at each other for a moment, before a screech coming from their left forced them to pay attention to their surroundings.

"We must not let them arrive to the Headquarter…no matter what." Armand muttered, in the end, readying his weapon. Methredhel simply nodded, the faces of everyone she held dear darting in her mind, with the knowledge that they were all inside and that no one of them would be able to defend themselves from the monstrosities besieging the city. Thank the Divines she had decided to return home immediately after her…_encounter_…with the _so called Hero of Kvatch_.

"Meth! Don't get distracted! We have a big problem just ahead!"

She jumped, immediately chastising herself for thinking again about that dreadful memory. She nocked an arrow, before realizing what was in front of them.

"_By…the Nine…"_ she muttered, almost losing her battle with her fear. A gigantic reptilian beast, with some humanoid figures around it, was running in their direction. No, she had to stay calm and fight! She couldn't allow them to pass…_she couldn't allow them to pass!_

She immediately aimed and released her bowstring, thinking about nothing other than the target in front of her. Just a second later and the huge beast fell down, having its heart pierced by a well-placed arrow. Her joy immediately disappeared as the group of Dremora following the beast erected a magic barrier before charging towards them, swords drawn. She sucked a big breath of air, trying desperately to find a way to outsmart them…

"**AUREALS! CHARGE!**"

Golden bolts exited from one alley of the Waterfront, slamming violently against the Dremora in front of them. A second later she realized that the 'golden bolts' were nothing else other than tall women…and it took yet another second to realize that those 'women' weren't Altmer. They were too tall…and that could only mean…

"**BARRIER DOWN!**"

A volley of golden arrows hit the group of Dremora, a split second after the Daedric (she still wasn't sure, but…) ladies had retroceded from them . Oh, that was right, the melee assault had forced them to drop their magic shields, so that's why they were now reduced to pincushions. Both the Bosmer and the Redguard looked at the scene dumbfounded, unable to make sense of it. They were Daedra too, apparently? Why they were attacking each other…?

"Aurig Staada! Mortal civilians."

One of them raised her head, her eyes immediately darting towards Armand and her. Her stoic expression was lightened for a moment once her eyes wandered over the corpses of the Daedra around them, but it returned neutral almost immediately.

"Not bad, for two mortals. **You!** Get out of here! This part of the town is still under Dremora's control!" she shouted, pointing a finger towards them.

Now, Methredhel knew you shouldn't question a group of armed Daedra, but the phrase exited from her mouth before she could stop herself.

"What?!"

The Daedra, instead of ordering her soldiers to fire at them or something, simply sighed.

"Are you deaf? I said **get out of here**. Lord Sheogorath is bound to defeat Dagon soon enough, but until then you'd better go to a safe place. And no, we don't need your help. You'd just get in the way."

She turned, effectively ending the conversation, muttering something her and Armand couldn't understand from that distance.

"Do you…"

Armand shook his head.

"You heard her. Right now they aren't interested in killing us, despite being clearly able to do so. I'd say to not push our luck and do what we were being told. Let's retreat."

He proceeded to sigh, looking at the enormous shape of Mehrunes Dagon in front of them.

"Let's just hope to survive this, for now. We can try to understand what in Oblivion is going on later."

* * *

To be fair, Mehrunes Dagon recovered from the loss of his axe pretty quickly. You could say a lot about the Prince of Destruction, and not much of it flattering, but he sure was a beast on the battlefield…and, like a beast, he could be lethal if underestimated, but easily beaten if his opponent was smart and creative enough. And, modesty be damned, Sheogorath was both.

Dagon, having finally understood that a vertical slash was good only to get blocked, tried with a horizontal one, in the vain hope to open his opponent in two. Yes, sure, Sheogorath would have had more trouble blocking that hit, but it was also pretty slow…jumping on it almost took no effort. He landed gracefully on the axe, and then started to run towards Dagon's hand. He jumped again when his opponent tried to shake him off, planting the Wabbajack into the other Prince's forearm for extra stability…and damage, when he discharged a wave of his power using the staff as a conduit. He quickly removed it, however, when Dagon tried to swat him with one of his hands.

Like a mosquito.

Great, he really had to think that, uh?

Oh, well.

He quickly aimed his weapon and, before being flattened, he fired the Wabbajack. An enormous spark was launched from the tip of the staff and hit the target, making the enormous hand recoil for a second. Before Dagon could attempt to do the same with another hand, however (damn, Mehrunes really had too many hands, if you asked his opinion), Sheogorath aimed the staff to his feet. Flames and explosions exited from the staff, launching the Prince in the air (and probably singing the arm below. At least, he hoped so). He laughed as an hand hit the place he was standing seconds before, but, sadly, he knew that there was probably another one ready to intercept him midair. His usual luck…he could never have some fun in peace! He concentrated on the Wabbajack once again: instead of flames, the staff iced the air below him, making a little platform of ice suspended midair. Sheogorath gracefully landed on it, before starting to run while creating his iced road in front of him. He had to really get creative with his directions to avoid getting hit (and sometimes divert the Wabbajack from creating the road to blast an hand or an axe), but he arrived where he wanted to be quite soon. He grinned as he was launched towards Dagon's face, just in front and slightly below of him, by yet another explosion of the Wabbajack, and his grin grew even wider as he plunged the tip staff into one of his opponent's eyes after a pretty parabolic trajectory.

**POOF**.

Resisting the urge to laugh until his stomach hurt he jumped back using the newly redesigned…pfff, it was _so _funny…eye as a platform, admiring his work and finding the symphony of Dagon's roar extremely satisfying. Well, he had to admit: transforming his eye in a huge sweetroll had been a stroke of pure genius. Also, he was pretty sure that at least half of the City could see the gigantic pastry and that made the whole situation even more exhilarating. He fired the Wabbajack below him, conjuring a big, fluffy pillow to soften his landing, then he bounced on it, landing on his feet an instant later.

"**MY EYE! MY…YOU WILL…!"**

Oh, he had finally stopped howling.

"**…Regret that, Dagon? Oh, I assure you, I'm not and I don't plan to.**"

He delighted himself with the outraged roar that followed, but his mirth had short life. He had fun enough, now it was time to _end _that battle. Dagon was livid, now, which only meant that he wouldn't be able to reason properly. The Wabbajack still in one hand, he concentrated his energy in the other, making it assume the form of a rope…or a ribbon, he supposed, but rope sounded better. He dashed forward, leaving the glowing trail of energy behind him, prancing around his opponent without seemingly aiming for anything other than avoiding the faster and faster attempts of Dagon to smash him. Suddenly he leaped backwards and, while mid-air, pulled with all the strength he possessed the rope, which immediately tightened at the ankles of his opponent. With his support temporarily severed Dagon fell backwards, but Sheogorath wasn't done with him. He stopped a second before using Dagon's protonymic and neonymic: he wanted the humiliation he was inflicting him to last forever, not to be erased by his forced banishment. Besides, his power was enough even without using that dirty tactic. He recalled all the energy he had spent on the ribbon and pushed it around the Wabbajack, making it assume the form of a spear…if spear could be made of light and energy, that is.

"**I BANISH THEE, MEHRUNES DAGON, FROM NIRN AND MUNDUS ALL, UNTIL THE DRAGONFIRES FADE AGAIN!**" he shouted in Daedric, power dripping from his words, as he plunged the spear into Dagon's chest. Once again, he used his weapon as a rod to channel his power, discharging a tremendous amount of energy into the body below…and finally seeing Dagon dissolve in an explosion of light after a few instants later. He smiled as the bright spear disappeared along with the Wabbajack, then closed his eyes, finally letting his current corporeal form dissolve into a fine dust.

Now it was Martin's turn to end all of it.

* * *

_So, only the final chapter and a quick epilogue are left. Once again, I thank everyone who supported this (and a special thanks to all who commented the last chapter! You guys are really the best!), and invite you to stay tuned for the end of this story. Until next time, Clumsy out!_


	16. Chapter 15

"So…damage report?"

Chancellor Ocato was tired, but he had to keep his wits with him and not allow his calm demeanor to break. Jauffre, no doubt feeling the same, pointed to a point on the map in front of him.

"The Temple District is a mess, but the other parts of the City are pretty much fine. The…_intervention_ of the Saints and the Seducers dramatically contained damage and victims."

Oh, _great_. His glance instinctively shifted to the room where the last remaining Daedra had obediently been herded after cleaning the city from the last enemies, 'until the conjuration spell wears off', as the commander of the Seducers had pointed out. Thankfully they had been pretty cooperative, instead of, say, trying to kill them all and finish what Dagon had started. Just another headache…but he supposed trying to understand the motivations of a Prince, especially if said Prince is Sheogorath, was useless.

"We'll need to talk with the Emperor, as soon as he wake up. I'd do it right now, but the ritual to re-light the Dragonfire was quite vexing, and to be frank he needs at least a few hours of rest."

Martin had collapsed immediately after completing his mission…in a certain sense, Ocato envied him.

"Chancellor, we need an official version of what has just happened."

Of course. The Altmer nodded, before speaking again.

"It would be pretty easy just to justify everything with 'Sheogorath is insane', but I fear that a move like that would only gain him more followers, out of gratitude. I'd simply suggest that what has just happened was a battle between two Princes for the dominion over Tamriel…and, luckily for us, they both lost. The remaining soldiers were left without orders, so that's why they didn't destroy everything."

Jauffre nodded.

"It's pretty solid…but I'm getting a lot of reports of citizens being saved by Sheogorath's minions. We should probably specify that the Madgod wanted us alive for who knows what nefarious scheme."

"Good thinking. Ah, I was almost forgetting: the Hero of Kvatch died heroically while protecting the Emperor. We should hold a ceremony, just to not arouse suspicions."

Jauffre sighed, before passing an hand on his face.

"Unbelievable. We suspected his background to be suspicious, but _this…_"

"Don't be too hard on yourself. No one could have predicted that, and he was an ally too capable to renounce to, if what I've heard is even only half the truth."

Jauffre nodded, clearly not too convinced.

"I should go to see the soldiers under my command."

"Of course. We will talk again when Emperor Martin wakes up."

* * *

"I must admit, it was a little too flashy for my tastes, but you did a remarkable job."

Peryite stopped, before rolling his eyes and sigh.

"Oh, and thank you for personally inviting me here, since _everyone _keeps forgetting about my existence. If I hadn't noticed what was going on on my own, I would have lost your battle, because _someone_" and he looked straight at Vile, which was too intent bragging something with Malacath to notice "forgot to call me again."

Sheogorath laughed, patting the dragon on his back.

"Ah, you know how he is. Don't mind him too much. Want some wine?"

Sanguine, who was passing behind them, turned his head.

"Hey, that's my line, Sheo!"

The Prince of Madness simply laughed, before waving and going towards another point of the room. He was the host, after all, he had the duty to entertain his guests.

"Lord Sheogorath. Do you mind indulging me for a minute?"

Nocturnal, since then occupied in a conversation with Azura and Molag Bal, had just accosted him, putting an hand on his shoulder.

"Sure, Nocturnal. What is it?"

Her strict expression was softened by a tiny smile, while she tilted her head.

"I've heard your garden is marvelous at the start of an Era. Mind showing me around?"

Sheogorath just shrugged, before offering the Prince of Night an arm and guiding her towards their destination. They walked in silence for a while, under the Isles' night sky, only stopping at the center of New Sheoth gardens. Nocturnal let go of the Prince of Madness' arm, briefly moving to admire one of the flowers near her. She was still looking at it when she spoke again.

"First of all, I suppose congratulations are in order. Dagon will remember this experience for at least an Era or two…really, the only way for him to go worse would have been the World Eater appearing from nowhere and beating him up once again."

Sheogorath grinned.

"Oh, it would have been a sight to behold, but we both know he's not going break free from his exile for at least a century or two."

"True enough."

There were a few seconds of silence between the two, before she spoke again.

"I've wanted to ask you for a while, now. Why did you decided to go?"

Sheogorath's contented expression didn't fade for even an instant.

"No one else wanted to. Or are you telling me that you were about to claim the job for yourself and I beated you by the nick of time?"

She turned, giving him a brief smirk before returning serious.

"Oh, no, I assure you. But you offered yourself even without giving anyone the chance to pressure you…you wanted to go, didn't you?"

Sheogorath simply smiled, before shrugging.

"Oh, you know Tamriel is my favourite playground. I knew I was the best Prince available for the job, and the discomfort of walking in my avatar for who knows how long was a small price to pay for it to remain the same. Plus…let's be honest, have you seen the Deadlands? Would you really want to risk Tamriel to become like them?"

Nocturnal didn't reply, at first. If she had understood there was more (and Sheogorath was sure of that) she didn't show. Suddenly a grin spread on her face, as she emitted a short laugh.

"By the shadows, no! He really has no class at all."

She shook her head, her grin transforming in a warmer smile.

"We should return to the party, now. Let's not make the others gossip about us, mh?"

Sheogorath offered his arm again, with a quick bow and a smile decorating the gesture.

"As you wish, my Lady."

Nocturnal laughed again, before gently placing her hand on the offered arm.

"Thank you, my charming host. You know, you should visit the Evergloam, sometimes…but we'll talk about it later, if you're interested. Let's go."

* * *

Martin sighed, nervously adjusting his hood to better cover his face. Moments from the last month passed in his mind: all the lies he had been forced to endorse had only cemented his resolve to discover the truth…because, he was certain, the truth was far more complex than it could seem. He bit his lower lip, remembering the ceremony he had been forced to attend…'To commemorate the heroic sacrifice of the Hero of Kvatch'…lies, all lies. The Hero of Kvatch was perfectly fine, probably in his plane of Oblivion, and certainly whatever 'sacrifice' he had made (maybe not invading Tamriel once Dagon had been banished?) hadn't killed him. He should have felt betrayed, and yet…all he could do was thinking again about his last conversation with _Simhaud_, about that last dare to find out the truth. And that was exactly what he was going to do: _that _would be his way to remember his lost friend. Sure, convincing Jauffre hadn't been easy, but Martin had proved in a lot of occasions that he could be stubborn, when he needed to. He smiled, the moment when Jauffre had finally agreed to let him investigate popping in his mind. Once the help of the Blades was secured, his plan had proceeded without a hitch. Simhaud (yes, he would keep referring to him as 'Simhaud'. It was easier that way) had been right, the Blades had found the right clue and thought it wrong. An Argonian thief, Amusei, had declared to know someone like him, only that this person had died five years earlier. Now that was curious: why chose the form (and the name) of a dead Nord, instead of creating a fake identity from scratch? He still wasn't sure, but he intended to find out. The Argonian, not without a lot of pressure and a reassurance they wouldn't arrest anyone, had finally gave them the location of the family of this friend of him. Waterfront District, the only house with a garden in the commoner's zone…his current destination. Of course he wasn't there alone, because he was being closely followed by Baurus, but it was a compromise he was willing to make. He shook his head, before stopping in front of a door, the faint sounds of a conversation coming from inside. There he was: he inspired, before knocking twice on the wooden boards. The voices inside stopped for a second, before they started again, adding to them a soft sound of little steps. The door opened and, behind it, there was a little girl, wild white hair and more freckles he cared to count. He smiled, removing his hood and lowering his head slightly to look at the girl.

"Hi. Can I speak with your mother?"

She, predictably, immediately turned on her heels, running towards the back of the room.

"Mooommy!"

A red-haired Bosmer woman raised her head, diverting her attention from the Redguard who sat next to her to look at the door.

"You're here ear…_Oh_."

Color washed away from the woman's cheeks, reaction that prompted the Redguard to look at the door too…and having the same exact reaction.

"_By the Nines._"

Well, apparently they had recognized him. He resisted the temptation to sigh, trying to remain the metaphorical eye of the storm. He raised one hand, speaking with his most convincing tone.

"Please, calm down. I'm not here to arrest anyone."

The woman quickly glanced aside, before speaking with a rather broken tone.

"You're…you're here for Simhaud, aren't you?"

Well, that was interesting. The Redguard shoot the Bosmer a cold glare, but Martin simply nodded.

"Yes."

The woman sighed, before signaling him to come inside.

"Mom?"

A boy and another girl peeked from another room as the Bosmer moved to close the door. She smiled, while completing her action.

"Don't worry. Go play outside for a while, okay? I'll come as soon as I can."

The little Nord boy nodded, before disappearing with his sisters. There were a few moments of silence, before the Redguard cleared his voice.

"May I, your Highness?"

Martin smiled, lightly tilting his head.

"Please, speak your mind. I'm not here to test your protocol."

"What do you wish to know, then?"

Martin briefly closed his eyes, trying to decide. What did he _really _wished to know? Or, better, what was the piece he needed to complete the puzzle?

"I need to know everything about Simhaud's disappearance. Also, I assume you know something is off in this whole situation, if you were able to guess what I was here for before I could speak."

The Redguard once again exchanged a glance with the Bosmer.

"Before we start…how much in danger are we?" the woman asked. Martin smiled.

"Oh, you aren't. However" …and his expression grew more serious… "I must ask you to not divulge whatever you may know. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course."

There was, once again, a second of silence…and, move that surprised Martin, the Redguard was the one who spoke again.

"It all began…five years ago. A few…_friends_…had disappeared in the Nibenay's bay area, so Simhaud went to investigate. He was away a few months…and no one heard of him, during this time. We were almost starting to worry that he had disappeared too…when one day, he reappeared."

The man stopped, sighing. Nibenay Bay, he said? Now that he thought about it, he _had _heard rumors about the strange disappearances in the area, everything obviously viciously denied by the Count of Bravil. He made a mental note to look more into the whole question, once he had returned to the Palace.

"He was…strange. He asked to talk me in private, and when he did…well…He hinted that someone wanted him gone, and that when he had we would have been safe…I still don't know what trouble did he stir, or who killed him, the next day."

Martin read regret in the man's expression. He could only assume that their last conversation had not been a peaceful one. Suddenly, the Redguard spoke again.

"Unless…"

He glanced over to the woman, who was clearly itching to say something.

"…Unless you count my encounter."

Martin, previously busy analyzing what he had been told, found his attention entirely focused on the incoming phrases.

"Please, continue."

The Bosmer gulped, then lowering her gaze to look at the wooden floor.

"I…was in Bruma, not too long ago. I heard about this…Hero, and…I noticed how the descriptions of him were similar to Simhaud's. So…well, I might have ambushed him. I was right: he was the exact copy of Simhaud. Same aspect, same voice, same way to walk…"

"You said…the exact copy. Not that he was him."

She nodded, clearly distressed.

"Yes. He…wasn't Simhaud. He said…he had killed him. And…that he had promised to not hurt us, once Simhaud was dead."

Martin blinked twice, processing the phrase.

"You said…not too long ago. When, precisely?"

She shook his head.

"I…I think…two days before the battle of Bruma. In the late afternoon."

Martin had to stop his mouth to open in shock. He still remembered that afternoon…and how Simhaud had seemed troubled. So that was what had caused his mood…But why? Was fear of his cover being blown? Or something else?

He realized that the Redguard and the Bosmer were waiting for a reaction, so he cleared his throat, desperately trying to find something to say.

"The children…are Simhaud's?"

"Yes."

He nodded. Suddenly, his next course of action was clear to him. The puzzle was still a few pieces short for the picture to make sense, but, even so, he still knew something.

"Well, for what I'm concerned, Simhaud was a hero, and you have been widowed. Five years ago or now, it doesn't matter."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression for a few instants.

"We weren't married, your Highness."

"You still lost a companion, marriage or not. May I know your name?"

Once again, she blinked, confused, before a tiny smile formed on her lips.

"Your Highness, you already know it…unless I'm underestimating the Blades."

Martin smiled back.

"Yes, but please, indulge me."

"Methredhel."

He nodded.

"Very well. Methredhel, I, and I said that with the authority of an Emperor, would be honored to offer high level tuition to those children. That's the least I can do to honor Simhaud's memory."

The Bosmer opened her mouth in surprise before she could stop herself, clearly not expecting that move.

"…I…"

"Of course, you don't have to answer right now. I'll leave a word to the Blades, so, if you are interested, you just have to visit the Palace and ask."

Martin paused.

"That's enough for now. I thank you for your cooperation…I don't suppose I'll need to bother you again. Farewell."

He put his hood back and then opened the door, exiting into the Waterfront District. He had a lot to put back together, after all.

* * *

He had been walking for a while, now. He stopped, looking at the alley around him.

Wait, what? Why was he in an alley? Was that…

"A dream? Took you long enough to figure it out."

The voice, coming from behind him, made Martin almost jump out of his skin…well, the voice and the insanely strong aura that he had just sensed. He quickly turned, just to see an old man with a staff, in a rich purple and gold suit, standing a few feet away from him.

Sheogorath.

The Prince, after seeing his worried expression, simply laughed.

"Oh, don't look so concerned. Every mortal has a spark of madness inside them…and you are no exception. Just because the Dragonfires are lit doesn't mean I can't reach Tamriel. Or, better, that I can't take a piece of Tamriel I have rights on somewhere else, at least temporarily."

Before he could manage to say something, Sheogorath smashed the staff…that he now recognized as the Wabbajack…against the walls of the alley. Martin heard a loud crack, similar to the sound of a broking mirror, as the space around him shattered in a million shards…and as the shards transformed into dark butterflies, blown away by a strong gush of wind. He admired briefly his new surroundings: they were now on a hill, and below them he could see a path slivering through a forest of normal trees and…giant mushrooms? He noticed in the distance a ruin of some kind, and the first light of the night in the sky. He returned his attention to the Prince of Madness, now sitting in a chair in front of a little table with a candle on it.

"Where…are we?"

Sheogorath grinned before answering.

"Your mind is currently in the _Shivering Isles_, my beloved home! Have a seat, please."

He concluded the phrase by gesturing with his free hand towards a chair (that Martin could have sworn it wasn't there before) on the opposite side of the table. Once Martin had sit in the chair, there were a few instants of silence before Sheogorath spoke again.

"So…I've heard you've been investigating."

Martin raised his shoulders.

"You told me to do that."

"But you already knew the truth, Emperor. Did you really need to do that when the answer was so clear in front of you?"

There he was. He inspired, trying to keep his voice firm.

"…Maybe it wasn't."

Sheogorath's grin widened, as he leaned towards him across the table, resting his head on his hand.

"Oh? And what makes you think that, little mortal?"

Martin gulped down, before forcing a little smile.

"May I tell you a story, Lord Sheogorath?"

The Prince grinned, clapping his hands after the Wabbajack had dissolved in tiny specks of light.

"Oooh, I like stories! But you better be sure it's a good one, Emperor."

The vague threat in the phrase was not lost on Martin, but he forced himself to continue. While he couldn't be sure whether he was safe or not, he knew that Sheogorath would at least let him finish.

"This story begins five years ago, when a strange island appeared in the middle of the Nibenay bay. Of course, adventurers from all the area flocked around it, trying to uncover its secrets…and, even less surprisingly, the island revealed itself to be a trap. Most of them simply disappeared, and the few fortunate ones that returned…well, they were no longer the same, their minds lost forever into the spirals of madness."

Sheogorath clicked his tongue.

"Ah! The stories where the heroes ends insane are always my _favourite _kind of story_!_"

"Oh, but those aren't the heroes of our story."

He inspired, knowing that he was about to thread in dangerous waters.

"Our valiant hero…well, he was not a knight in shining armour, but a thief. An extraordinary thief, maybe, and a unusually capable warrior, but still a thief. You see, some of the victims were member of the Guild, like him, so he was sent to investigate. Probably he smelled the trap miles away, but he gritted his teeth and entered the mysterious portal on the island, because he needed to make sure he could understand what had happened, to stop further accidents."

Sheogorath straightened his posture, leaning on the back of the chair, his expression still a mask of polite amusement.

"Sounds interesting. So, what happened to this little thief?"

"At first, it looked like he had suffered the same fate of many others, disappearance. Then, one day, he returned, as nothing had happened. Except something had happened, because he left some cryptic and sinister clue to a close friend and was found dead the next day, killed by who knows who."

Sheogorath shook his head, a gentle smile still on it.

"What a downer ending."

There was no turning back now.

"Oh, but this is not the end. Five years later, the thief appeared in a prison cell, with no one knowing how he got there. Interestingly enough, the cell was to be used by the late Emperor to escape an assassination attempt, and the Emperor seemingly recognized the thief as the man in one of his visions."

He shook his head.

"Well, we both know how this story unfurls and then ends. The thief, at the last second, revealed itself to be a Daedric Prince, and proceeded to banish Dagon, allowing the last known Septim to relight the Dragonfires and save Tamriel."

There were a few seconds of silence before Sheogorath spoke again. Martin noticed, with no small amount of horror, that his smile had faded.

"Trying to bind together two unrelated stories, Emperor? Tsk, that's some sloppy storytelling."

He sucked in a breath of air, before answering with the firmest tone he could muster.

"I think not. Those stories are even closer than it could seem, if my theory is right."

"And what would be this theory of yours? Weight carefully your next words, Emperor."

The threat was now painfully clear in the Prince's words, but Martin decided to ignore it. It was, after all, too late to stop.

"I thought a lot about this. The simplest solutions to the puzzle…they all seemed sensible, but they all had something that didn't make sense, when I thought hard about them. So…only the strangest one remains."

He gulped down.

"The thief…you, Simhaud, become Sheogorath during the time you spent in that portal."

Silence. When he was starting to seriously worry for his safety, Sheogorath burst into a vigorous fit of laughter. He bended forward, holding his stomach, as tears started to flood from his eyes after a few instants of that mad laugh. Only after a while, in which Martin had found himself unable to move, he managed to utter some kind of phrase between one laugh and another.

"What…how could you even…how could you even begin to _think _something like that?! And they say _I _am crazy!"

No, Martin was sure of it. He balled up his fists, trying his best to stay determined.

"I…I don't know the details, and I am still asking myself how this is possible…but it is, somehow. I am sure of it."

Sheogorath slowly stopped laughing, wiping away the tears from his face. Once he had calmed down, a smirk started spreading on his face.

"Heh. I knew you could do it."  
_  
What. _Martin looked at the Prince in front of him in shock for a few seconds, before remembering how good Simhaud was at hiding what he was really feeling. Of course he would try to dissimulate.

"…So it was true. You truly were Simhaud, all that time."

Sh…Simhaud was silent for a few seconds, before passing one hand on his face. Under his touch, his features mutated, assuming the form of the mortal he had been. He smiled…a sad, slightly sardonic smile.

"Oh, I wish I were sure like you are right now, Martin. Am I Simhaud? Am I Sheogorath? Neither of them?"

He sighed, his weird eyes (the only part of his face that hadn't changed) looking at nothing.

"I thought I knew, but now…"

"Maybe I know."

His eyes immediately focused on Martin, looking at him for a second or two before shaking his head.

"I appreciate the attempt, Martin, but…"

"No, wait. Let me try to help you. I…want to return the favor."

This time Simhaud looked at him with attention, almost studying him. It was…unsettling, to say the least, having those piercing Daedric eyes staring at his soul, but thankfully the examination didn't last long. He sighed, turning his head to look at somewhere in the distance.

"I thought I had managed to complete the process….to mantle Sheogorath. That I had truly became the Prince of Madness…and then, when I heard about Dagon's plans and the way the other Princes wanted to stop him…I told myself that I was only being pragmatic, but, truth to be told, I wanted to go. I…needed to go. I…I…"

He trailed off, concluding the phrase with another loud sigh.

"You felt guilty about your disappearance and wanted to break even?"

Simhaud returned his attention to Martin, before shrugging.

"Yes, I suppose. But…I also wanted to prove myself that I was truly Sheogorath, that even living as a mortal again would change nothing. I was, of course, dramatically wrong."

Suddenly, a phrase from one of their discussion resurfaced in Martin's mind.

"You thought that you had buried your past…"

"…and said past hit me like a charging bull right in the guts. Pathetic."

Once again, silence fell between them. Martin cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"Simhaud…I am not a Prince, and I may know what mantling is, but certainly don't know how it works in first person like you…"

Simhaud immediately gave him an icy stare.

"Martin, please, get to the point."

"…Right. Would you like to listen to my opinion?"

The Prince simply sighed, clearly annoyed by his hesitance.

"It can't hurt to hear it, can it?"

If they had told him, some months before, that he would end offering emotional support (or trying to) to a Daedric Prince he would have thought them mad. Fitting, he supposed.

"You said that you don't know who you are, that you felt Simhaud resurface from Sheogorath…and that you fear this is interfering with the mantling process. Well, I think it's the _opposite_."

He stopped, trying once again to find the right words.

"Walk like them until they walk like you. Simhaud must become Sheogorath…"

Simhaud's face lightened with…comprehension. He had understood what Martin was trying to imply.

"…And Sheogorath must become Simhaud."

The Imperial smiled, nodding lightly.

"You got it. Probably some of your minions suggested you to forget your mortal self…of course they did, they're Daedra, they think we mortals are weak and pathetic…but it's wrong. It wouldn't be mantling, it would only be erasing one part of your personality. You said this yourself…you can't erase your past. You were a mortal, once, and that part of you will always exists. Maybe it will change during time…no, wait, it will almost certainly change, but it will always be there, as long as you will live."

Simhaud closed his eyes, clearly deeply in thought, but Martin wasn't done.

"There's one last thing. I remember what you said to me…'Only someone else can forgive you for your sins'. Well, I am here for that."

He got up, moving towards his friend. Simhaud opened his eyes, once he sensed his movement, and got up too. Martin stopped in front of him, looking straight in the darkness of his friend's eyes.

"You saved Tamriel. You saved me. You saved your family…well, your former family, I suppose. But even if that is not enough for you, and if I know you well enough it's not…"

He extended one hand towards him.

"…I will take care of them, my friend, and I will take care of Tamriel. And it's all thanks to you. You lead them to me, and me to them. I will try my best to not let your work be undone."

Simhaud was silent for an instant, and Martin wondered if he had made the wrong move. Then, as fast as a summer storm ends, a warm, genuine smile spread on his friend's face. He closed his eyes for a moment, probably overwhelmed by his emotions, before opening them again and doing the last thing Martin would have expected from the former Nord. Simhaud hugged him, with a bear hug he could have sworn could have broken his bones had it been just a little tighter. Martin returned the gesture with the arm still free from the Prince's iron grip, lightly patting him on his back. Then, as fast as the gesture had started, Simhaud released him, his smile even brighter.

"Thank you…friend. I will watch over you, too…as much as I can. I'm sure you can understand."

He made a vague gesture with his hand. After all, he still was a Daedric Prince…he couldn't expect much from him, he realized that and he respected it. It was the role he was meant for, after all.

"Is this…a farewell?"

Simhaud laughed.

"Oh, I would love to have you for tea, sometimes. But…"

His expression returned serious.

"…yes, I suppose it is."

He looked at Martin one last time, the hint of a smile reappearing on his face.

"Time to wake up, Emperor. Farewell."

* * *

_Once again, thank you for your support. I'll see you soon for the epilogue._


	17. Epilogue

Martin opened his eyes, the feeling of a starting, massive headache pressing against his temples. Ouch. He lifted his head from the document-littered desk…oh, great, he had fallen asleep while working again. Martin sighed, trying (in vain) to soothe his throbbing head by massaging his temple, but renounced almost immediately. Maybe some kind of restoration spell could have…

"Ah, Emperor. I didn't expect to find you here so soon."

Jauffre's voice made Martin almost jump out of his chair, but he regained his composure pretty quickly.

"Jauffre…good morning."

The Grandmaster was about to add something, when he clearly noticed the state of Martin's robe…and his expression.

"Please, your Highness, tell me you didn't sleep here."

Martin was about to answer, when the events of the previous night flooded back in his mind. Simhaud, Sheogorath, the Isles…no wonder his head felt so horribly.

"Emperor? Is everything…"

He shook his head, unable to stop a grin from spreading on his face.

"Yes. Everything is alright."

Jauffre looked at him for a few instants, before shaking his head and going on.

"Well then. About those investigation we spoke yesterday…Can I ask you to reconsider, before I send the Blades to…"

"Yes."

The Breton stopped, blinking twice. Well, Martin couldn't really blame his surprise, he had been adamant in his intentions, and he wasn't the kind of man that changes idea easily.

"…'_Yes_'?"

"I…won't be needing other investigations. Let's…just say that this night was very insightful." he said, with a smirk at the end. He was sure Jauffre was finding the whole situation suspicious, but he decided to not complain.

"Very well. I will consider myself glad that you dropped that, with all due respect, nonsense. Shall we move on to more serious matters?"

Martin smiled, almost forgetting his headache. After all, he had made a promise to Simhaud, a promise to do his best for Tamriel...a promise he fully intended to fulfill as best as he could.

"Of course. Let's go."

* * *

Sheogorath…Simhaud…didn't really matter what name he used to refer to himself, uh? Anyway, he shook his head, the shadow of a smile on his face.

"My Lord. I trust your audience with the freshly crowned Emperor has gone well?"

He turned his head to look at Haskill, before shrugging and offering the Breton the smuggest smirk he had produced in a long time.

"What do you think?"

The deadpan chamberlain looked at him for a few instants, before sighing.

"My Lord, when I discouraged you from meeting the mortal I simply gave you my opinion. I have never claimed I was omniscient, and I must remind you that, even if the effects currently seem to be positive…"

"Yeah, yeah…we can't know how this unfurls. **Who cares**! I'll deal with any problems that arise if and when they do. Right now we have more pressing matters, Haskill!"

"And those pressing matters would be…?"

The Prince simply laughed.

"Why, I must have a backlog of work to do! All those weeks where no one pushed mortals into insanity…**_dreadful_**! Someone must remedy _immediately_!"

Haskill simply nodded, his expression not changing in the slightest.

"I suppose so, Lord Sheogorath. Oh, and Grakendo Udico has reported on that invasion of Hungers in Deepwallow. I suggest to take a look at it, once you are done with your mortal pawns."

The Madgod nodded, and he had just started to walk away when he stopped in the middle of the room.

"Oh, you know what, Haskill? I'm tired of my current appearance. I was thinking…how about I wear a blouse split in two colours? Like…purple and orange? Oh, I have _so many ideas_! I can't wait to show you later!"

Haskill didn't sigh, but his tone implied that.

"Of course, Lord Sheogorath. Always ready to serve."

The only answer to that phrase was a laugh, as the Lord of the Isles turned, starting to walk again. He had work to do, after all, and only a mere _eternity_ to do that! Better start as soon as possible, no?

* * *

_I almost can't believe this is over...it seems like I started writing yesterday! I have no words for thanking everyone that followed, favourite, commented, or simply visited this: thank you, thank you so much for everything. I hope you enjoyed this ride as much as I did. See you (hopefully) soon!  
_


End file.
